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The Library op Choice Fiction. Issued monthly. By Subscription, $0.00 per Annum. 
No. 30. December, 1891. Entered at Chicago Postotiice as second-class matter. 

^ ^ — 



WHHT IT COST 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


By r. AMD 1. E. 5ULLIYAM 


ILLUSTRATED 


CHICAGO 


LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS 











WHAT IT COST 

OR 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 




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THE LIBRARY OF CHOICE FICTION 


WHAT IT COST 

OR 

DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


BY 

F. AND I. E. Sullivan 


ILLUSTRATED 



CHICAGO 

Laird & Lee, Publishers 
1S91 





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Entered, according to Act of Congress 
in the year 1891, by Laird and Lee in the 
office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


. I 


PREFACE 


As we sit in our "little soddy” in Western Kansas, 
to-night, with our story ended, we have the satisfaction 
of knowing that we have tried to blend facts and fic- 
tion in such a way that neither will be the worse for 
the other being there, and that the two together may 
make a picture worth looking at; not for the merit of 
the picture itself, but that he who looks at it may see 
beyond the incentives, aspirations, achievements and 
rewards portrayed in the life-sketches of which this 
story is but a shadow. 

If the Reader, as a faithful accountant, reckon the 
debits and the credits of Uncle Sam^s account, though 
he gleans its items from the day-book of these unpre- 
tending lives, and love home and Union the better from 
recognizing what it cost to preserve them, then this 
little book shall have performed the mision hoped for 
it, by The Authors. 


X 


WHAT IT COST; 

OR 

DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 

CHAPTER I 

NEWS AT THE FARM 

The quiet little village of Mapleton was stirred to 
its utmost depths. The firing upon Fort Sumter had 
awakened its people to the fact that the storm which 
had been brewing so long had burst in all its fury. 

For forty years it had been averted by compromises, 
but now eloquence and brain-work could hold it off no 
longer. It was no more to be a contest of eloquence 
and oratory, but one of musket and bayonet; not a 
trial of minds but of mights. The call for troops 
found a ready response in hearts loyal and true; but 
the bravest hearts throbbed wildly and the voices of 
the strongest quivered with subdued passion, as the 
question came to home-loving patriots: "Who shall 
go?" 

"Not my son, oh no, not Will," whispered good old 
‘‘Aunt Polly" Morris, as, rocking nervously on the old- 
fashioned porch, she plied her needle swiftly in and 
out of the hickory shirting, and peered, now and then, 
anxiously down the canopied road which led to the 

7 


8 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


village. “Will is gone a powerful long time. I won- 
der who is going to enlist? There’s a plenty can leave 
home better’n Will, now when their new house is just 
ready for ’em, too. Grace would be mighty cut up 
if Will was to go. She’s a worryin’ over it now, I 
know, or she wouldn’t be pacin’ up and down the 
orchard. He’s mighty good to me, uncommon good 
. — I couldn't let Will go.” 

Outside walked restlessly, up and down the orchard 
path, Grace Morris. She couldn’t sew this after- 
noon. Will had gone to the village, at once, on hear- 
ing the news; and, while her loyal heart beat in uni- 
son with the Nation’s throbbing pulse, a nameless 
terror filled her at the thought of the danger to her 
own husband and brothers, if they answered their 
country’s call for men. She knew Will’s fearless loy- 
alty, she loved it as characteristic of him, but the 
white hands were clasped firmly and the pale lips 
pressed closely, as she murmured : 

“No, no, not Will; they won’t need our boy!" 

Evening shadows lengthened into night. Farmer 
Morris finished the chores and came in to supper and 
home-rest. He had not been “foolish enough to stop 
work” when the news of the fighting came. He thought 
this sectional strife might be amicably settled without 
his interference, and he did’nt “blame the people of 
the South for standing up for their rights." But the 
equilibrium of his mood was destined to be soon dis- 
turbed ; for Aunt Polly, Grace, and Floy, were thor- 
oughly roused, and feminine tongues were making the 
minutes count. Floy had come home from school in 
great excitement, and with the usual vim of a thirteen- 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


9 


year-old school-girl had reported the whole town in a 
tumult; a company was to be formed at once, and a 
roll was being made. 

"Did you learn who had volunteered, Floy?" queried 
Grace eagerly. 

"No; but everybody was flying around at such a 
rate, that I guess every man in town must be going, 
ril wager my next summer’s hat Will will go, and 
your brother Clay, too," blurted out Floy. 

"What a chatter-box you are! Will couldn’t leave 
home now, just when their new house is ready for ’em. 
There’ll be a plenty of older men to go," put in Aunt 
Polly, with a meaning glance at Aaron who was pre- 
tending to be absorbed in the county paper. "There, 
set the supper up, Grace; ’taint no use to wait any 
longer. " 

"But wouldn’t it be dreadful if any of Uncle Jim’s 
boys should join the rebels • in Virginia, and some of 
our own boys fight ’gainst them?" said Floy, when the 
supper was almost finished in silence. 

"Tut, tut, Floy! hush your nonsense," said Mr. 
Morris, looking up now. "The people of the South 
have a perfect right to defend their liberties, and to 
secede if driven to it. They are no more rebels than 
our forefathers were in the Revolution; and we never 
brand them such. There’s Will now!" 

A firm step rang on the porch, and a young man 
of twenty-three summers entered, his brown hair pushed 
back from a full high forehead, clear steel eyes, and a 
form that might have been the envy of the Knights of 
the Round Table, so straight and well developed was 
it. 


10 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


"Mother, Grace, Pve enlisted!" 

They had feared it, had expected it, but the words 
fell like a bombshell. 

"No, no. Will!" and, "O, Will! how could you?" 
came in a breath from lips grown suddenly pale. 

"How could I not, when needed? When our Nation's 
life is in danger, it’s unmanly to hesitate. Some one 
must go, many must go; why not I?" but his eyes 
turned tenderly, pleadingly, to the young wife, whose 
white face and trembling form showed the emotion she 
was trying so hard to hide. 

"A hasty, thoughtless boy!" sternly said the father, 
pushing back from the table. "Why should you take 
up arms against your kinsmen, all for the foolish 
notion of loyalty to your country? Risking life and 
property, leaving home when you're needed here!" 

"Father, the Union must be preserved at all haz- 
ards," promptly answered Will. "The love of home and 
dear ones demands it, if our relatives in the South are 
true to the flag of our Union, they’ll not be found in 
the rebel ranks, and if — " 

"Young blood is hot, and fiery words are cheap! " 
retorted he. "No child of mine shall ever take up 
arms against his own kith and kin and their interests, 
to gratify a foolish sentiment. Think well of it, sir." 

"I have thought well of it, and acted accordingly; I 
am no longer a child, father." 

"You did right, Will, you’re always right," said 
Grace, slipping her hand in his, while she choked 
back the sob in her voice, "but oh — how can we spare 
you?" Here she broke down, and Mother Morris joined 
her. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


11 


"To give you up, Will, seems harder than to go 
myself, " said his mother, tears running like rain down 
the wrinkled face. "To wait and listen for reports of 
you and your home-coming will be more than I can 
bear! But the rebels must be put down." 

"That^s my own true mother," said Will, proudly 
kissing the tear-stained face raised bravely now, deter- 
mined to face the worst, ready to do woman^s work, 
just as neccessary as that of bearing arms. 

"Yes; you side in with him, old woman; youMl get 
enough of it when he^s living on soldier’s rations and 
dodging bullets; you won’t talk so fine when the war 
is actually going on!" And with this the father left 
the room and the house, to go over to Harvey Mor- 
ris’, another son, where a sympathetic listener might 
be had. 

Floy, at this juncture, reminds Will of his waiting 
supper and, while he eats heartily of it, they discuss 
the probabilities of "Uncle Jim’s" folks entering the 
Confederate ranks, and who of their Northern friends 
would go. 

"Why, Will Morris! ” exclaimed Floy. "What if 
our own brother Hi, should turn a rebel, too!" 

A hush fell upon the group, for Hiram, a son of Mr. 
Morris’s first wife, had stayed in Virginia, married the 
daughter of a rich planter and had since moved to 
Tennessee. 

"Floy, even that possibility must be faced," said 
Will, the firm mouth closing yet harder. "Let us not 
meet trouble half way. Hi has a few slaves, he wrote, 
that his father-in-law gave them at their wedding ; but 
he wrote later of disposing of them. Hi was always a 


12 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


first-rate fellow — he wouldn’t be disloyal — at least, he 
wouldn’t go into the Confederate ranks. " 

The Morris ancestors had lived in Virginia since 
colonial times. Aaron Morris had wedded there, early 
in life, a Virginia girl of boasted blue blood; but 
death had left him with two little boys of two and 
three, Hiram and Harvey; leaving them with his 
mother he had gone to Ohio, where he met and mar- 
ried Polly Wilton, a likely lass who could spin her 
twelve cuts a day, weave, -sew and patch with dexterity, 
and withal had a good idea of the affairs of neighbor- 
hood and of state. 

Her father, a staunch old whig, had instilled in the 
minds of his daughters, as well as his sons, that Union 
should be spelled with a big U, and states with a little 
s; that Union and Liberty were synonymous words; 
and, though Polly loved the man she married, and was 
a true faithful wife and mother, she never departed 
from her early training. Aaron, though a man born to 
rule, equipped by nature with both form and disposi- 
tion to command rather than obey, never quarreled 
with a woman on politics. He supposed, of course, 
that his sons would fall in line with him, as he was 
right — he was “always right.” Hiram and Harvey 
were filial in the extreme, with them father’s will was 
law. But Will and Floy were of different mold ; while 
in most matters they respected their father’s opinion 
and shared it, yet Polly Morris’ influence was felt, 
and had its effect; to the old man’s surprise, when Will 
cast his first Presidential ballot for Lincoln. Then he 
was amazed, and even angered — blaming the liberal 
education he had given Will as making him head- 
strong. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


13 


Soon after, Will was married to Grace Osborne, the 
talented daughter of Dr. H. A. Osborne, and brought 
her to his parental home, while his own house should 
be completed, on the adjoining farm. Grace’s gentle, 
winning ways and big violet eyes had won the keys to 
the old man’s heart, as she won every one, and the 
breach between father and son had been healed. 

Grace was truly Northern in her ideas and training; 
loved the patriotic songs of the flag and National 
heroes, loved the right in all things, being a sincere 
Christian girl — and believed slavery to be the most dia- 
bolical of all evils. Her father and two brothers had the 
same opinion; it was the knowledge of this that caused 
a sudden idea to flash through her mind and the ques- 
tion to spring from her pale lips: 

‘‘Will, who else of our family has enlisted?” She 
dared not say, “has father enlisted?” 

‘‘Clay and Harry both go. ” 

“Harry?” repeated Grace. “Not that child! why. 
Will, he’s only fifteen, and mother idolizes him!” 

“Harry Osborne going to the war!” exclaimed Floy. 
“Well, it’s a burning shame! Men are cowards to 
allow him to go! He’s the best scholar in school, 
too! Arithmetic won’t be a bit interesting without 
Harry!” 

“It’s bad for Mother Osborne,” said Will, trying to 
keep a brave front, although the sight of Grace’s 
terror-filled face almost unmanned him. “And we 
tried hard to hold Harry back, but he was all enthu- 
siasm, and father said he could go. Brave old man! 
Grace, you have reason to be proud of him and his 
sterling principles. When the appeal was made, to 


14 


JVH/1T IT COST; OR 


clay, to an excited crowd, for men to answer the Presi- 
dent’s call, a lull fell; you could almost hear the hearts 
beat, as each man thought of his dear home-folks, 
and the suffering they would endure! But only for a 
moment, when that deep full voice rang out ‘I, for 
one, Harrison A. Osborne!’ We dissuaded him, since 
his absence would be felt more than that of any of us, 
and he gave way, saying that if the war lasted longer 
than three months he’d come to reinforce us. Bless 
him! ” 

He didn’t tell them that he himself had been the 
one to say: “No father, I, but not you," and that first 
upon that roll of honor was the name of Wm. Morris, 
aged 23. 

“Dear old father! Always ready to meet the inevi- 
table, unflinchingly!” said Grace, “but ’tis so hard to 
let you and the boys go — so hard!” and her head sank 
down upon the table, making a distressing picture that 
quite overcame Will; he waited until his lip should 
stop quivering and the choking sensation should leave 
his throat, stroking her smooth, blonde hair tenderly; 
then, taking her hands in both his own, and looking 
straight into her deep eyes he said: 

“Would you want me, Grace, to do otherwise than 
go, when the President calls for seventy-five thousand 
men? — I, with strong body and good health, quite as 
able to go as anyone? It would be cowardly to hold 
back for someone else to join the ranks and go to 
protect my home and dear ones. Don’t make it harder 
for me, Grace; for it’s hard to leave you now, just 
when our home is about completed, and we had laid so 
many plans for making it a cozy nest — plans that 


DEBTOR ARD CREDITOR 


15 


must now be postponed. But we’ll hope the rebellion 
will soon be put down,- and home will seem doubly 
sweet then." 

Grace was conscience-stricken in a moment. She 
wouldn’t have her husband or brothers shirk duty. 
She detested a coward; and while she dreaded the 
absence and danger it implied, she respected the in- 
nate bravery which prompted this unhesitating enlist- 
ment. 

"Will, I’m proud of you," she said, "and ashamed 
that I can’t act my part of the sacrifice as bravely!" 
Then she added determinedly: "But I must — I will! 
You did right." 

Will’s proud smile repaid any pang it cost her to 
speak thus. 

"Say, Will, you must become a General, or some- 
thing big," Floy hastily said, brightening up as the 
thought struck her. "You’d make a fine looking Gen- 
eral, with shoulder-straps and head-gear. Do be a 
General, Will!" 

Will laughed at her enthusiastic simplicity; and 
even Grace and Aunt. Polly smiled. 

"My shoulder-straps are yet to be won. Puss. No; 
as a common soldier I go. Still, from the ranks the 
trusty leaders must be picked; plenty of time to think 
of that, though." 

During the conversation, Grace and Floy had cleared 
away the supper. Aunt Polly had stirred the buck- 
wheat cakes and pared the potatoes for breakfast — 
Floy claimed mother would do that if the house was 
on fire — and Will now led the way into the cheery 
family sitting-room. A huge back-log blazed in the 


16 


W'H/iT IT COST; OR 


broad fire-place and threw its genial light and warmth 
into the room, plainly but neatly furnished, its stiffness 
relieved by some ornamental designs Grace’s deft 
fingers had wrought. The floor was covered with a rag- 
carpet of Aunt Polly’s own weaving; two large rock- 
ing-chairs stood before the fire-place — they were usually 
occupied by Aunt Polly with her knitting and Aaron 
with his papers. Floy’s arithmetic and slate lay upon 
the table with Grace’s work-basket and the book from 
which Will had been reading aloud the evening before. 
Many had been the pleasant evenings spent here dur- 
ing the winter, and Floy’s regretful outburst was 
echoed by all, “that now the fun was all spoiled;" no 
more nice evenings with all the family, "even if they 
could have hickory nuts and apples still." Then she 
queried dolefully: 

"How will we get the hickory nuts next year if ^Harry 
Osborn doesn’t come back to shake the trees? Not a 
boy around will venture out on the limbs as he does." 

"Tell us about the company. Will. Who is going, 
when and where?" said Aunt Polly, giving her knit- 
ting a sudden jerk, and anxious to have it all out at 
once. 

"We may be ordered to join our regiment at Keo- 
kuk at any time," said Will. "Who’s going? Well, 
the company is filling fast; there are twenty-seven 
names enrolled from town, alone." 

"Twenty-seven!" echoed Aunt Polly. "Why every 
man in town must have joined. Who are they?" 

"Well, Roy and Will Clayton, John Edwards, the 
new jeweler, all three of the Clarkson brothers, Jack 
Riley, Clarke Wells," called out Will, "but old Wells 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


17 


forbids Clarke’s going. You see, he has just refitted 
the mill, expects a booming trade and wants Clarke to 
run the engine.” 

"Old Wells is an old sneak!” indignant Floy ejacu- 
lated. “He never sends that boy to school, and they 
say he can scarcely read or write!” 

“I think he’ll go, notwithstanding his father’s objec- 
tions; and the men down-town are urging him to do as 
he pleases, for all feel that it is not because he dreads 
to have Clarke away from home, nor fears the danger 
he must face, but because it would take a cool sixty 
dollars per month out of his cash-box to get an engi- 
neer as good as he, and Wells’ heart lies in his pock- 
et-book. But, say, you can’t guess who was the second 
man to put his name down ! ” 

“Why, Will, I thought your name -was second,” 
said Floy, ”or is it first?" 

“Yes, it is first; you know we persuaded Grace’s 
father not to volunteer.” 

“Well,” said Aunt Polly, meditatively," I calkerlate 
it was Sam Cline.” 

“Yes, a reasonable guess; if he could do his fighting 
by standing around the stores shooting off his mouth, 
his name would be first on the state roll; and he did 
do the most enthusiastic talking of any in the crowd 
until he found out ’twas not mere speech-making, but 
that a company was actually to be formed. Then as 
we started toward the hall, he suddenly remembered 
he must chop some wood for his wife. I assure you 
’twas the first work he had thought of this week; he 
didn’t come back, and he won’t either.” 

What it cost; or debtor and creditor. — 2 


18 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


"Well,” said Grace, "I say John Edwards was 
among the first to enlist.” 

"Why, what makes you think he would be among 
the first?" asked Floy. "He’s the quietest boy in 
town. ” 

"Yes, I know he’s quiet,” said Grace; "but I noticed 
the night the lamp exploded at the exhibition, he 
was the coolest person in the hall, and he was but 
twenty then, had his overcoat off in an instant and 
smothered the flames, though it burned his eyebrows 
and scorched his hair most all off and destroyed a good 
overcoat; then, when they began thanking him and 
praising his bravery, he quietly walked off. I tell you 
it is not the daring speeches that show who’s really 
bravest! ” 

"Well, Grace is right, ” said Will, "for John’s name 
went third and he never said a word, only, ‘I don’t 
believe in any section of the country being too big, or 
too little either, to hold the Stars and Stripes!’ But 
you haven’t guessed the second name yet.” 

"Oh, tell us. Will; I’m getting anxious,” said Aunt 
Polly. 

"Well, it was Pat McGuire!” 

"Pat McGuire! ” exclaimed all three in one voice. 

"Yes, we got a pretty good joke on your father, 
Grace; when the roll was ready for signatures, he took 
it and was going to put his name down, when Pat 
screamed out, ‘Faith, an ye can put my name roight 
under yer own. Dr. Osborne; you and I will jine her 
together, for nather of us heve any great luve fur ould 
England, and we may heve a crack at him before we 
gits back.” 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


19 


"I think Pat McGuire had better get a ‘crack’ at 
something that would make a living for his wife and 
those six little children, before he goes to cracking at 
ould England as he calls it!” said Aunt Polly. 

Mr. Morris and Harvey were now heard outside. 
The old man had met Harvey on his way up. The 
latter also had felt the shock of the bombshell tidings, 
and, blaming the Government for not quelling the dis- 
turbance without bloodshed, (though how, he never 
ventured to suggest,) had come up to air his opinions, 
well knowing it would not be healthy to give vent to 
them in the village where ‘black abolitionism’ held 
sway. Harvey was a man who hallooed ‘peace’ but 
made no effort to bring it on. He lacked Will’s 
force, and usually agreed with his companions in times 
of controversy; but, for thirty years, he had thoroughly 
believed in his father’s superior wisdom, and now he 
fell in with him with alacrity. 

Polly Morris’ opinions had much weight with him, 
though, for he had known no other mother, and Polly 
had lovingly cared for him and Hiram since the time 
she had found them in pinafores, two little orphan 
boys in their Virginia home, and had well filled the 
place of that other mother they had only heard of. 
The coming of the two men was the signal for an ex- 
cited argument; stinging words were used on both 
sides during the debate about Personal and National 
rights — words which would be recalled with hard 
thoughts many times in the dark days which followed. 
It was late when they separated for the night, and 
it was without the accustomed evening hymn; for all 
through the winter, the evenings had closed with Grace 


30 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


playing some sacred voluntary, or assisted by Will and 
Floy, singing some sweet-home, or sacred, songs. 

Sleep did not come to all of them. Floy, half be- 
wildered by the angry words from home-folks and with 
visions of the war, soon sobbed herself to sleep; but 
Aunt Polly, when, at last, bitter thoughts were put 
aside, was full of anxious plans for Will’s comfort until 
far into the night. 

Long after Will was snoring in easy sleep and 
dreaming of attacking and routing the enemy, Grace 
stood at their bed-room window gazing out into the 
moonlight, wondering how the stars could twinkle so 
merrily while life seemed so dark and sad to her; 
stood thinking of the bleeding hearts that their own 
village held to-night, and piteously moaned a prayer 
for help as she shuddered with a terrible dread of a 
parting that might be forever; then she knelt by the 
sleeping W^ill, and praying as only they can pray who 
feel their utter helplessness and have implicit faith in 
God’s word and his power to aid, she commended her 
dear ones to the care of Him, "Who doeth all things 
well. " 

Next morning, the atmosphere was icy at the Morris 
breakfast table, although, without, the beautiful spring- 
tide spoke of warmth and cheer, while, inside, a bright 
fire shone from the cook-stove, and breakfast itself 
smoked upon the. table. Some attempts at cheerful- 
ness were made by Grace and Floy, but were quenched 
by monosyllabic responses. The barriers seemed in- 
surmountable. 

"Guess I won’t go to school to-da}^,’’ said Floy at 
length, "I couldn’t study a mite, and half the school 
will be absent." 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


31 


*'* Pears to me you’d better be there, then; anyway 
you’re going,” said Aunt Polly in her decided way. 

“Of course you’ll go to school. What other busi- 
ness have you got to attend to?" sternly came from 
the father, who almost scowled at all of them. 

So in that they agreed, and Floy went to school, but 
only the History of the Revolution had its usual charm 
for her. Harry Osborne came at recess for his books. 
His mother couldn’t spare him to go to school any 
more, as he might be ordered to join the regiment at 
any moment. The favorite school-boy was hailed as a 
chief. Harry was a fine-looking lad, tall and well- 
built with light brown hair and speaking blue eyes 
that sparkled in jest or looked wondrous deep. On 
the ball-ground he was the champion player, and in 
the school-room ranked number one. How the boys 
and girls flocked around him, making strange com- 
ments upon his going to the war! The boys cheered 
him; many were the contradictory speeches made of 
prophesied feats and mishaps; shoulder-straps were 
suggested for him and he was warned of being killed; 
all in good faith though, and Harry knew it. 

Will took Grace up to her father’s in the village, 
and found the whole town in sympathy with their feel- 
ings. 

Groups of men talked hurriedly, on every street-cor- 
ner and in every store; women and children swarmed 
from house to house, and, occasionally, the name of 
Morris might be heard; for everybody knew everybody 
else’s business, as is usual in a small place, and, par- 
ticularly, everybody knew that there was a difference 
of opinion at the Morrises’; that Will had enlisted and 


22 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


the old man forbidden his going. The news-mongers 
enlarged the story until it was reported that Mr. and 
Mrs. Morris were going to part, etc., etc. 

At the farm, when Will was hitching up, his father 
had said to him: 

"A word with you. If you persist in this folly Til 
disinherit you! No child of mine can openly defy me 
and wrong his own kindred! Tve tried to be a good 
father to you. Will,” he added as WilTs defiant looks 
said, "Disinherit me, then! ” 

Will bit his lip to check an angry retort, and simply 
said, "I have two strong arms, and am not a child to 
be scared by threats! ” 

"I cannot brook this outrage! You set my dearest 
wishes at defiance and take up arms against your own 
people! Why, boy, don’t you know that both your 
uncle and your own brother Hi will join the Southern 
ranks? And that if they didn’t and their states were 
brought back into union with the North, a bill would 
be passed making the slave traffic unlawful, and our 
people would be beggared?" 

"Father, you know what I think of buying and sell- 
ing human beings; ’tis not the time to discuss that 
now. I have enlisted in the Union ranks and I go — 
cost what it will!” 

"Take 5^our choice, then, but remember if you go, 
you cannot return to my house!” 

This conversation Will told Grace as they drove back 
from the village, but they agreed to spare his mother 
the pain of knowing it. 

"Father is excited now,” said Will, "for a nature 
like his, strong and born to rule, to be thwarted, is 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


33 


almost unbearably bitter. But to think, Grace, that he 
should threaten to disinherit me, and close my old 
home against me if I go to defend my country's flag!” 

"Never mind, you are on the right side!" said Grace 
comfortingly. "You know the old saying, ‘thrice is he 
armed who has his quarrel just!’ Your father will 
repent his hasty words ere long. He’s such a grand 
old man, it is a shame he don’t come over on the 
right side.” 

‘Humph! — there’s no ‘come over’ for father; once set 
in his opinion there’s no changing it." 


CHAPTER II 


HOME-MAKING — HOME-BREAKING. 

"Will, I can’t give up the idea of moving into our 
own home before you go away, " said Grace, as they 
drove down the road from the village that evening and 
saw, off to the left, the new Gothic cottage which had 
been the sign of so much comfort to them. ‘T want 
to wait your home-coming there." 

"Nothing could suit me better, Grace, than to move 
as soon as we can finish up, " said Will; then he added 
with a deep sigh, "how I shall hate to leave it so 
soon! But, Grace, you must not stay alone while I 
am gone." 

"Oh no! Pll be continually on the move between 
my mother and yours. I shall have a music class too, 
to help while away the dreary waiting time. You did 
not know I have already seven pupils engaged, who 
were to have come to our cottage for lessons on Wed- 
nesday and Saturday afternoons. I had planned to sur- 
prise you with the funds. " 

Will kissed the tears away, that fell at the thought 
of all these changes in their beloved projects. 

"Shall we then come down to-morrow and do the 
papering?" he said. 

Grace assented readily; ^twould give something to 
do, and she scarcely dared be idle for fear of sad 

24 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


25 


thoughts. Aunt Polly objected strongly at first, but 
finally yielded. 

‘ 1 calkerlated for Grace to stay right here with me 
till you came back. Your father will get over his pet 
soon,” she said, though she doubted the truth of the 
assertion herself. ” ’Pears to me Grace would git 
mighty lonesome livin’ there alone, and we’ 11 need her 
here for company, goodness knows! ” 

“Pll look after Grace all right,” said Floy, anxious 
to help “.fix up” the new house, and plans for arrang- 
ing Grace’s pretty things already flying through her 
head. Floy loved tearing up and moving. “I mean 
to be the man of the house over there whilst Will’s 
gone." 

"That’s good, Floy; Pll leave Grace in 3 ^our care. 
You can be the ‘home guard’ while 1 face the enemy 
in the South," said Will, looking proudly upon his 
pet sister as she drew up her child-figure to its full 
height, and accepted the charge with a hearty, "that I 
will! ” 

Then followed a busy week for all, of papering, 
planning and arranging. 

Everybody had been surprised, Aaron and Polly 
Morris very pleasantly, when Will, after finishing the 
High School course — they had a good one in Mapleton, 
and ’twas the pride of the community — had announced 
his intention to begin farming; and, paying half cash, 
bought eighty acres joining his father’.s farm. Soon 
afterward, on his marrying Grace, his old class-chum, 
he decided to build a home in a pretty site, onl}^ half 
a mile from town and on the main road to Belmount, 
the count}^ seat, seven miles away. During the wdnter, 


26 


U^HAT IT COST; OR 


a neat little cottage had been erected among the 
spreading elms — a cozy affair, consisting of four rooms, 
pantry and closet. Double windows on the east made 
the sitting-room sunny, while shelves and brackets for 
house-plants were all in readiness. The spare bed-room 
was separated from it by an archway from which hung 
raw-silk curtains — much to Mrs. Grundy’s disapproval, 
who was sure they couldn’t afford it — and the two 
rooms could both be thrown together when occasion 
required. 

The kitchen, with its large pantry and the roomy 
closet, completed what Clay termed “a fine suite of 
rooms,” and he, laughingly, drew an outline of it, say- 
ing: 

'T may need a duplicate copy when I find my wife.” 

By the way, the old doctor had at Christmas, made 
Will and Grace a present of the cash to pay for the 
rest of the eighty acres, so now the farm was clear. 

On Friday, the work at the cottage was finished. 
Very pretty its new furniture looked, if it was simple; 
and Will and Grace viewed it admiringly. Now ’twas 
ready for their trunks and groceries. 

"We’ll have a house-warming when we get it all 
done! ” said Floy, arranging the house-plants Clay had 
just brought down from his mother’s matchless collec- 
tion. "A nobby affair, just one final party before 
you boys all go away." 

Grace’s sad face didn’t seem to approve the plan, 
but Floy thought perhaps she could talk her into it. 

"You’ll be ready to move in Monday, won’t you? 
Not a specially good day, but it will do, I suppose; 
we’ll have to get ready in a hurry, but we can manage 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


27 


it — just a supper and a fine evening, you know; say, 
won^t you?” 

‘‘I fear it might prove a second ‘Eve before Water- 
loo,’ ” remarked Will, evidently not enthused. 

“I like the plan, in part, folks,” said Glay. "It 
would be nice to have a few special friends drop in to 
supper, before we go away. Floy can call it a ‘nobby 
house-warming’ if she likes. We’ll help get ready — 
you’re agreed, of course. Here comes Harry, and, by 
Jove! something must be the matter, from the way he 
hurries; see him scale that fence, and, look at his 
face! What’s up?” ’ 

“Time’s over for loitering here, old boy. We’ve 
been ordered to join the regiment at Keokuk, on Mon- 
day!” cried Harry, excitedly twirling his cap. 

“Monday!” echoed Grace, “so soon? Oh!” 

“It leaves little time for last home-work and for 
house-warming,” said Will, taking the hands she 
clasped so sadly. “I had hoped to see you comfort- 
ably settled, but ’tis best for you to stay with one of 
our mothers, Grace. Bless you! ” 

“I’m glad to have the suspense ended,” said Clay, 
“the week has seemed an age to me; half my entries 
I scarcely knew when I made them. The enemy is in 
the field, and the quicker we get off the sooner ’twill 
be at an end. We dread the starting, of course, but 
we’re needed now. It will be hard on mother; she 
sees only the danger. Poor mother! These women 
have too kind hearts for their own good.” 

“Where’s Floy?” asked Grace, then, looking down 
the road, she saw her running at her utmost speed 
homeward, her brown hair floating in the breeze. 


28 


IV HAT IT COST; OR 


"Gone to tell mother," said Will, thinking how the 
news would shatter even her brave determination to 
"never break down when she knew she was in the right." 

"You won’t begin house-keeping here at all now, 
will you?" asked Harry. 

"Yes; I want to. Can’t we come to-morrow? Per- 
haps it is a whim of mine, but I want W^ill to leave 
me here. ” And the beseeching look would have won 
o’er any opposition. 

"A wise thing, little woman," said Will, "for the 
memory of this home and the dear girl who waits for 
me in it, will be an incentive to prompt action. When 
Pve done my very best, Pll do a little more yet for 
the sake of that home and wife.” 

So it was settled that, next day, the two parental 
families should dine with Will and Grace at the new 
home ; and it was a sensible plan, for it gave all some- 
thing to do, the best preventive for grief born of dread. 

Aunt Polly Morris baked a mammoth cake, frosted 
it and put a flag made from red, white, and blue sugar 
on the top. Mother Osborne roasted the turkey which 
the doctor had sent Harry two miles to get. Clay 
brought fruit, nuts and candies. 

Aunt Polly’s snowy loaves were sent down, and she 
made a plum-pudding for Will’s special benefit; last 
but not least, Harry brought a large flag and draped 
it o’er the table. Floy went flying around on errands, 
and finally disgraced herself, in her own opinion, b}^ 
spilling the cream on the new pine floor! Will and 
Grace had gone together to ask father Morris to join 
them at dinner. He was reading the morning paper 
and quite ignored their "good morning." 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


29 


"My wife and I would like to have you take dinner 
with, us at the cottage. A home-making and break- 
ing-up dinner all in one." 

Will spoke bravely, but received a withering glance 
and the angry retort: 

"ril have nothing to do with your wife and you!" 

And so they left him. Floy and Aunt Polly went over 
to the cottage early. Clay and Harry came soon after. 
The doctor was a picture of good -nature, strong, fat 
and jovial, with keen blue eyes, hair growing some- 
what white, though he had only spent a half-century 
on this mundane sphere. 

Born in Ohio in i8ii, when the scene of "Tippeca- 
noe" was fresh in the minds of Ohioans, he was named 
Harrison in honor of the famous General, and he had 
handed the name down to the youngest son along with 
his blue eyes and sunny disposition. His wife was a 
slight- formed, quick-witted body, with a kind, motherly 
face and bright brown hair at forty-five. 

A great effort at cheerfulness was made by all. Will 
carved the turkey and served the guests; Grace pre- 
sided with native dignity, and the doctor got off some 
jokes which gave flavor to the meal. After dinner 
they gathered in the cozy sitting-room, and all sang 
"Home Sweet Home," and tried to sing "In the Sweet 
By and By," but broke down, and Grace played it with 
the variations instead. Then they left the newly in- 
stalled family, who stood in the doorway waving adieux, 
wondering, silently, when, if ever, they would all meet 
again. 

In the afternoon, Harry had seen Floy out under the 
elms and joined her, instinctively. She was his special 


30 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


girl-friend at school, and somehow he wanted to hear 
her say she was sorry he was going away, and would 
miss him. 

“Floy,” he said, “I am but a boy and you a little 
girl. We’re not expected to feel like older people, 
though we do sometimes; but, Floy, I want your picture 
to carry with me when 1 go away.” 

“I haven’t any, but one, and that’s for Will,” said 
Floy hastily. 

“Give it tome, won’t you?” pleaded Harry. “Will 
can see it, sometimes, and he will have Grace’s. And 
— and say you will miss me and be sorry when I go?” 

“Of course, we’ll miss everybody; there won’t be 
men enough left in town to put out a fire if one should 
start. " 

“Don’t tease me now, Floy, I may never come back 
again,” said Harry earnestly. Why he could hardly 
tell, but he wanted Floyto say she was sorry. 

“Harry Osborne! I think it is the silliest thing I 
ever heard of, for you to go to this hateful war ! I 
should think there were enough men to go, and there 
would be, if they weren’t afraid!” 

“I heard you say, just the other day at school, you 
wished you were a boy, so you could go, too, girlie," 
said Harry, laughingly. “But I’d rather you’d be 
just what you are, Floy, the sweetest little girl in the 
world, and stay safely here and wait our coming 
home" — then Floy ran away, for she was going to cry. 

Harry saw her brush away a hot tear, though, as she 
ran, and knew she would be sorry. The next day was 
Sabbath, a long-to-be-remembered Sabbath — the last 
calm, peaceful Sabbath at home — all at home. Would 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


31 


another ever come? To-morrow the boys would march 
— that dread to-morrow ! 

The little white chapel was crowded on that day. 
People who never attended church came with a prayer 
in their hearts. Those who allowed trivial excuses to 
keep them from service got ready on time this morn- 
ing. The boys felt this last good-bye more sacred than 
anything save that of wife and mother. 

Never had the well-known faces looked so friendly; 
never had the old house seemed so cheery, or the 
memories it held so dear; nor ever had the music of 
the choir such a tender under-current as now, when 
they listened to the blending of the familiar voices. 
Who could tell if they were ever again to join in 
another song until the angel-choir — their echo soon to 
be drowned by the deep roar of cannon and the fierce 
whizzing of bullets. 

A subdued, anxious expression rested on the faces 
of many, as ever and anon, their eyes would turn to 
the boy or man whose absence after to-day would mean 
so much to them. Farmer Morris sat with Aunt 
Polly and Floy in the old accustomed place. He, 
with stern rigid bearing that brooked no idle question- 
ing, but wearing a complacent look still; for he ‘was 
in the right;” he was neither ashamed nor afraid to 
face people who differed from him in opinion, ‘‘for he 
was always right.” Hannah Edmonds, the spinster of 
uncertain age who had raised Jack Riley, the young 
volunteer who sat by her, whispered to him: 

‘‘I should think he’d be ashamed to come to the 
sanctuary of the Lord, after quarrelin’ with his own 
son, and that because he wasn’t a rebel like hisselfl” 


33 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


But Aaron Morris had never a misgiving on that 
score. 

Good, old Rev. Mr. Miller showed much agitation in 
his manner, but was equal to the occasion ; he got the 
attention of his excited audience by reading the resting 
verses beginning: “Let not your hearts be troubled! 
Ye believe in God; believe also in me; " then using 
these words as his text, he gave utterance to many in- 
spiring and comforting thoughts. The text itself made 
hearts beat bravely. “Quit you like men. Be strong." 
He sliowed the value added to Napoleon’s forces by 
his faith in them. He showed God’s faith in the 
valor of man made in his own image. 

As he pictured the danger to be braved in war and 
in life, mothers, wives and sweethearts sobbed aloud, 
and strong men felt “choky; " but rest and strength 
he brought to them, through God, strong and mighty, 
who expected them to “quit themselves like men," 
while He brought them victory. 

“Success to the right is inevitable — God is with 
you ! " 

How often the words and scenes came back to them 
on other Sabbaths, when other sounds than Rev. Mil- 
ler’s voice and the music of the choir made the air 
tremble. At the close of the services, the minister 
glanced around the congregation, looked through and 
through his hymn book for a last song, then turned, 
helplessly, toward Grace! She sat at the organ, pale 
as marble, but with that sweet look of patient resigna- 
tion which a consciousness of self-sacrifice to high 
principles gives the face of great-souled beings; and 
Will, who continually watched her, thought he never 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


33 


saw her look so angelic. Now, with a look of despair 
mingled with determination, she turned to “God be 
with you till we meet again,” and, after a short pre- 
lude, sang what seemed a benediction : 

“God be with you till wc meet again ! 

May his hand protect, uphold you ; 

With his sheep securely fold you, 

God be with you till we meet again.” 

Many voices began with her, but broke down before 
the stanza ended; few sang the refrain: 

“Till we meet, till we meet, 

Till we meet at Jesus’ feet; 

God be with you till we meet again.” 

Among the few voices, were Will’s deep bass and 
Clay’s rich tenor. They felt the heroic effort Grace 
was making and came bravely to the rescue. If she 
could bear up, they, strong men, would. But more 
stopped during the second verse: 

“God be with you till we meet again; 

Daily manna still divide you, 

God be with you till we meet again.” 

Many tears were wiped away as the thought of the 
need of manna and resting places too, came to careful 
mothers’ hearts. When Grace reached the last stanza, 
every voice was hushed save an occasional sob — and, 
paler yet and with a pathetic thrill in her clear voice, 
she sang on alone: 

“God be with you till we meet again, 

When death’s arrows thick surround you, 

Put his arms unfailing round you — 

God be with you till we meet again.” 

There was scarce a dry eye in the house now, for 
IVhat it cost; or debtor and creditor — ^ 


84 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


two big tears shone on Grace’^ lashes, as she finished. 
Even stout-hearted Floy was sobbing aloud, though, 
at first, she had lowered her veil to hide the tears that 
forced their way out. She had thought ’twas a dread- 
ful thing for a girl of thirteen to cry, but the thought 
never occurred to her now. 

The warm hand-shaking after service and the sym- 
pathy which looked from eye to eye, though the lips 
tried to keep up appearances, by telling about the 
weather, crops, and health of the family, was another 
picture to be stored away in memory^ s garret to be 
brought up, oftentimes, to soften rough passions and 
make better men. 

Floy was careful to speak to Harry on the way down 
the aisle, and slipped a package into his hand; Marne 
Edwards and Lois Miller nudged each other, simulta- 
neously, and exchanged knowing glances. Harry could 
hardly wait to get home to open it, and nearly ran his 
mother down in his haste. He walked up with her, 
or, rather, she said she “ran up with Harry,” on this 
last Sabbath, while Clay came up with Grace, Will 
and the doctor. 

“The cottagers” were to dine at the Osborne home 
on that day. Harry hurried up to his room, locked 
the door to keep out Clay, who bounded after him to 
“see what was up,” and opened the mysterious pack- 
age. There she was, Floy herself, in miniature form! 
Of course, he kissed her; he was but fifteen, and he 
was going to face bullets, far away from home and 
friends. Then he read the little note: 

“Harry: — I am sorry you are going away — very sorry; 
though I wouldn’t say so under the Elms when you 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


sri 

wanted me to. Here’s my picture — perhaps Will can 
remember me anyway. We’ll all miss you. Good- 
bye, good-bye! Floy." 

Monday morning came, and in its gray dawn the 
smoke curled from every chimney in Mapleton. The 
town awakened early, for at eleven o’clock the train 
was due which would take the company designated as 
Co. F, of Seventh Iowa, to Keokuk. 

Patrick McGuire was on the alert, long before day- 
break, as were Kate and the six little McGuires, who 
ranged from Michael, aged eleven, down to Patrick, 
junior, aged nine months. Pat chopped a huge pile of 
wood and bade Mike and James "to kape it joost that 
same soize all the while; " put the pig in the sty, and 
chored round usefully. 

When the time came near for the boys to go to the 
hall from which, in their uniforms, they would march 
to the station, Pat was much excited; all the children 
gathered about him quietly, without a push or scuffle, 
while Kate stood by, struggling to keep back the tears. 

"An’ be jobbers, ye’ll hev a hard toime the whoile 
Pm gone, to feed them all! Moike, you an Jeems can 
foind woruk to do, an’ faith, ITl sind ye every cint I 
git.” 

"Joost bring yerself home, Pat, safe and sound, an’ 
ye’ll foind us all well an kickin’,” said Kate, using her 
apron vigorously, but still the tears fell. 

Then came a drum-beat, the signal for the Company 
to meet at the hall. Pat turned quickly and the fam- 
ily followed him into the yard. 

"Now I must be off; good-bye, Mike — Jeems and 
all ye leetle fellows. Hold the baby up high so I kin 


36 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


see him last thing as I go by, Katie — an^ good-bye— 
ril come home a drum-major sure.” He started, then 
came back three times to say something to the little 
ones, who cried for “papy to comeback,” rolled on the 
ground topsy-turvy, and ended in a good-natured scuf- 
fle, while Kate hunted bonnets and hats, for most of 
them, to take them down to see the company march. 

John Edwards called at the parsonage that morning 
and talked an hour, with — not the parson — but pretty 
Lois Miller, the minister's daughter, who was sweet 
sixteen and as gay and talkative as John was sober and 
quiet. John’s mother and his sister Marne watched the 
time enviously. 

Will and Grace walked over to the old home that 
Will might bid farewell to his mother and Floy. He 
sought his father, whom he found busy measuring oats 
for sowing, as if nothing unusual was happening. 

“Father, I came to bid you good-bye,” he said, ex- 
tending his. hand: 

The old man fairly scowled. “Sir, you are no son 
of mine, if my wishes are to be scorned, my dearest 
principles trampled upon,” he said, and turned coolly 
to his work again. 

“As you please ; I do nothing but what I know is 
right, father; I feel it, I know it. Good-bye, think of 
me as you will.” 

And Will turned with hard, bitter thoughts toward 
the house where his mother spared no loving words of 
trust and praise, a true balm to the wounded spirit. 
Then she blessed her boy, and gave him up — oh, so 
reluctantly — to his country. 

“Good-bye, Floy, darling little sister,” he said 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


37 


huskily as he turned from his mother's last embrace. 
"Be a comfort to both Grace and mother!” and kissing 
her fondly, hurried away, lest he should break down 
entirely at the sight of his weeping mother. 

“Will, if you were only a Christian, I could let you 
go a hundred times easier, ” said Grace, as they passed 
through their own gate again. "If you put it off longer 
— will we ever meet again?" 

"My darling, good girl,” he said tenderly, and with 
much emotion, "I wish I were, for your sweet sake — ” 

"And for your own, Will. Will you read my little 
Testament and pray?” she pleaded. 

' Pll try, Grace, darling, I will — I always meant to, 
anyhow. " 

Now Clay and Harry came hurrying in to bid Grace 
good-bye; they lingered, dreading the word, until 
Will said: 

"'Tis but fifteen minutes until the train is due." 

The boys kissed Grace, looked long into the violet 
eyes and hurried down^the road. Will kissed the pale 
face again and again, then put her gently aside and 
didn't trust himself to look back, for tears, true, 
manly tears, came trickling down his cheek; 'twas well 
he didn't trust himself to look back for the sight of 
that lone figure at the gate-way, whose head had fallen 
with a thump on the gate-post, would have made it 
harder than ever to go. A buggy came dashing down 
the road, 'twas Aunt Polly. Morris and Floy, who had 
decided to go down to the station and see the very last 
of the starting; Grace went with them, though she 
had thought she would see the last of Will at home. 

The streets were lined with fathers, mothers, wives, 
children and sweethearts. 


88 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Grace, Aunt Polly and Floy made their way to 
where the doctor’s gig stood, near the platform, where 
Will would be sure to see them as he marched by. 
Near them, stood Kate McGuire with Mike and 
“Jeems” in front of her, the three “leetle fellers ’ cling- 
ing to her skirts and crying, as Kate wiped upon her 
apron, the tears that would come, and “fixed” little 
Pat, so*she could hold him up for his sire’s last view. 

The martial band struck up “The Star .Spangled 
Banner,” and the boys marched with steady tramp, 
tramp, tramp, down the principal street leading to the 
station. 

How brave and noble they looked; Will and Clay 
marched together, and, watching for the doctor’s gig, 
Will saw the one face dearer than all others to him. 
Yes, and mother and Floy too, and he bowed his glad 
surprise. 

Clay had no special “sweetheart,” but was a general 
favorite, and had arranged to write to several girl- 
friends; so many handkerchiefd^were waved to him as 
he marched by. 

Just behind them, with head proudly erect and step- 
ping in perfect time, marched Harry, with Clarke 
Wells; for Clarke was going, though his father felt 
sorely disappointed. 

Harry had left a note with Grace for Floy, which she 
was now thinking o’er and o’er. It ran: 

“Dear Little Floy: — I thank you again and again. 
Your picture and the little note will make me brave 
and strong. Your innocent face will help me do my 
duty better. Good-bye, Floy, good-bye! Yours for the 
red, white and blue, Harry." 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


30 


Harry saw his mother and Floy together, and remem- 
bered them so, as the last of home. Pat stepped with 
high tread to the music, keeping tune with his head, 
and didn’t fail to see Kate holding up the baby, who 
crowed quite merrily. 

As the lines drew up to the station platform. Doc- 
tor Osborne proposed three cheers for Company F; 
they were given with a vim; and he added: 

'‘We expect our boys to be true as steel and to stand 
by the Stars and Stripes till they float o’er the North 
and the South!" 

Then the Company cheered and the train pulled 
away. 

Away — and the people on the platform and those in 
the street returned to their homes, desolate now as if 
death had already entered them. 

Grace stayed with her father and mother that night, 
but didn’ t neglect to go to her other mother, the next 
da}^ 

"I will be helpful to them all," she said — and she 
kept her word. 


CHAPTER III 


TO THE front! 

The Seventh Iowa, in which regiment the Map.eton 
boys marched bravely, reached General Lyons’ army 
in time to help drive the rebel governor and state 
officers out of St. Louis; then came the drilling and 
marching. 

Harry had missed home and mother, and still missed 
them; but when they had taken possession of the city, 
had been initiated into skirmishing and were soldiers 
in fact as well as in name, he talked 'less of home. 

Clay and Will knew by the long hours of silence, 
quite unusual to Harry, and the stern look on his boy- 
ish face, that the love of country, and the love of 
home were raging a war in his heart. 

Many nights, after "Tip” — as the soldiers familiarly 
called the namesake of "Old Tippecanoe" — was enjoy- 
ing a soldier’s rest. Will and Clay laid plans to help 
him and make the life of a soldier as easy as possible 
for him. 

Time passed on, and, though Harry was seemingly 
sociable, and even jovial among his comrades, his 
brother knew that the struggle to keep his home-sick- 
ness down and his courage up was a great one, until 
on the. evening of August 6th, word ran through the 
camp that the next morning’s sun would reveal to 

40 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


41 


them another army, but dressed in gray instead of 
blue. 

The soldiers should have reserved the name of ‘‘Tip” 
until then; for the sight of Tecumseh to General Har- 
rison probably brought more excitement to that brave 
old man than did the army in gray to the boy-soldier. 

His eyes grew brighter, his step more firm, and his 
lips more compressed; and even Will and Clay showed 
more anxiety in their faces than did Harry. 

There was but little sleep in the Union camp that 
night; they who thought themselves bravest paled at 
the thought of the morrow when they would face the 
gray army and stand up as a target to be shot at. 
They would send bullets, too, of course,, but what 
effect might those received have? Wives seemed 
dearer than before; prattling of babies were heard by 
many in their half-wakeful dreams that night; mothers’ 
kind faces hovered o’er many, and, if one could have 
read the thoughts of that army, on the sultry August 
night, he would have found Harry Osborne brave as 
the stoutest-hearted. 

Marching had tired the muscles, but there was no 
danger to life or limb; the long hours were passed in 
many good jokes and laughable stories; and most men 
had not realized how happy were, the homes they’d 
left, nor how stern the reality of war, until just before 
the battle. 

But Harry seemed to forget them now, and to think 
only how he could prove most valiant and help his 
comrades best. He, like all true heroes, had not 
shown his real worth until opposition called it forth. 

A kite must have a wind against it to make it rise, 


42 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


so Harry must hear the roar of the rebel artillery to 
buoy him up, and prove it was not fear which had 
caused his lagging step and sober countenance. 

Day dawned upon a half-hopeful, half-doubtful army, 
and the sun rose for the last time on many a noble 
man. War, at best, is terrible, but when men of the 
same country are pitted against one another, when 
men from the same blood stand only a few feet apart 
waiting for the word “Fire” — the death-knell of thou- 
sands — it takes more nerve than is possessed by ordi- 
nary beings to keep calm and cool. 

The line in blue faced the solid gray one; the dead 
silence was oppressive. “Boom!” “Boom!” and “whiz” 
went from the Union lines at the command “Fire! " 
the front of the advancing army was cut down — but 
they bravely closed ranks and came again. They were 
met by such a volley of shells and bullets that again 
they were repulsed. 

The Seventh Iowa was in the blue lines that stood 
firm, and checked the advance of the Confederate force. 
The boys long remembered the brave commander, who 
rode along the lines just back of the soldiers — behind 
a fence, their sole oreast-works, fearlessly riding, 
though within range of the Confederate guns, with his 
leg thrown across the horn of his saddle. 

Once, as he passed them, he called out the cheering 
“Hurrah for the Seventh Iowa. You’re bully boys! 
bully boys!” 

For two hours the advance was checked — but the 
Union lines began to close o’er dead and wounded 
comrades. Some of those who saw them fall would 
grow pale and turn their heads away from the ghastly 


DEBTOR y4RD CRDITOR 


43 


sight ; some would swear and some would pray, but all 
realized now the horrors of war. Once as General 
Lyons rode along where the boys were firing, he said: 

“Boys, this is a pretty knotty problem, isn’t it?" 

“Yes; but we’re subtracting from it as fast as pos- 
sible," replied Harry. 

For hours still, the bullets flew, and had not Gen- 
eral Lyons been mortally wounded, the Union force 
might have held both the guerilla forces in check; but 
now the arm}^ in blue was compelled tg fall back. 

The battle was over — the firing ceased and the boys 
found that the “subtraction" had been from both sides; 
that each side had fewer brave soldiers than when they 
went into camp the night before. 

The’ battle was over, but the pangs of that day’s 
work were felt, sharp and piercing, years later, for the 
moan of the dying soldier is echoed in the sobs of 
wives and wails of orphans. 

For two days the army marched — the remnant of it, 
then encamped in a forest, and the soldiers rested in 
the friendly shade. Will, Clay and Harry stretched 
their weary bodies on the ground ’neath a huge oak to 
rest and talk it over. 

“Just tell me. Will or Clay, what is the real cause 
of this war and what you think will be the end of it! " 
said Harry, who had lain thoughtfully silent for some 
time, and now raised his head upon his elbow to com- 
pare ideas. 

Both were silent for several minutes; then Will said: 

“’Twould be hard to guess at the effect — though the 
Confederates call us all Yanks, the shrewdest Yankee 
in the army would miss it— -judging from what we wit- 


44 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


nessed two days ago. Pd say that if this Rebellion 
lasts long the effect will be far different from what 
either the North or the South hoped for at first.” 

“Well,” repeated Harr}^, “what is the real cause of 
it, back of the firing upon Fort Sumter? 

“Why, Pd think you’d know that, being straight 
from school,” said Clay. "The real cause dates back 
to 1620 — doesn’t it — when the Dutch trader landed 
with his slaves for sale; but the immediate cause was 
the secession of the Southern States. ” 

“What’s the excuse for being ignorant when such 
an encyclopedia is with you?” said Harry, with marked 
deference. “Why did they secede, Herodotus?” 

“They claim that their rights will be infringed upon 
by Lincoln and his cabinet ; but Lincoln has not shown 
himself hostile to the South, and they should at least 
have waited and seen if their conjectures were true or 
false.” 

“Pll tell you the cause in plain English,” said Will. 
“The Southern gentlemen, on account of their boasted 
blue blood, are naturally tyrannical and bossy. They 
want free trade because they don’t manufacture, and 
they want the right to carry slavery wherever they 
please, whether the rest of the Nation objects or not. 
They claim that the North has to submit, or else they 
will form a government of their own! They expect 
some sympathizers on our side to help them, but they’ 11 
find few helpers in the North.” 

“Well, from the way some of them talked when Lin- 
coln was elected, I should think they’d have plenty of 
them,” said Harry. 

“O, yes; the South has some friends in the North: 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


45 


why there was Jim Leland, and there was not a more 
highly respected citizen in the county, you know, who 
said, when he heard of Lincoln’s call for troops, that he 
hoped ‘Old Link would get a dose of lead before he 
made another call.’ Of course he was excited, but his 
real opinion prompted the wish. My own father is 
very bitter against Lincoln and the party that elected 
him. He was more angry than I ever saw him. But 
party lines are broken down now; our company is made 
up of men from all parties — and a loyal North answered 
the President’s call." 

"That’s so!” said Clay heartily. "It is not the man 
nor the party we fight for, but for the preservation of 
the Union.” 

"Then the conclusion of the matter is, that some of 
Uncle Sam’s boys are feeling too big," said Harry. "I 
guess the old gentleman has spoiled them by allowing 
them to engage in a business he did not really think 
was right. He should have brought them under con- 
trol a long time ago ; but perhaps a good flogging now 
will make them more reasonable." 

"You can’t always instill right principles into a child 
by whipping him, " began Will, thoughtfully. “Uncle 
Sam can bring his refractory children home again, but 
if he lets them bring their traps and foolish notions of 
"bine' blood ’and white supremacy” with them the fam- 
ily quarrel is only hushed for a time. There will 
always be wrangling while slavery exists — and to think 
that my own father stands up for it! I call that humil- 
iating! Boys, there’s no reasonable sacrifice I would 
not make, to have my father leave the party whose 
main portion stands for secession and slavery!" 


46 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


"Why, Will," said Clay, "I could overlook your 
father’s believing in slavery. He was educated to it, 
born and raised in Virginia, where his people all 
owned slaves; so he had a financial interest in the 
black man." 

"Financial fiddle-sticks!" exclaimed Will. "That’s 
no excuse! Because there’s money in it, is a man 
justified in dealing in human beings, and human souls? 
and -despite his early training every man knows, down 
deep in his soul, that the traffic is a sin and an out- 
rage. I shall never forget that last sermon we had at 
home in which Rev. Miller brought out the idea that 
the Savior gave his life for all men — black and white. 
Still, men in the South, who try to be Christians, cheat 
the Savior, himself, out of his recompense; for how 
can the negroes .serve him aright when they cannot 
read even the Bible? How dare the Southerner repeat 
the Lord’s prayer, and say ‘forgive as we forgive?’ 
Many -of them would be answered with the lash, if 
God answered the prayer to the letter! I tell you a 
few such sermons would rouse the people of the North 
until they would stop short of nothing but the freedom 
of the slave!" 

Clay and Harry laughed at Will’s vehemence, for he 
had evidently forgotten how tired he was. 

"Such eloquence!" said Harry. "’Tis a shame to 
have it wasted on us two boys of fifteen and twenty, 
who can’t even vote. Will, you must take the stump, 
next fall! " 

"I prefer laying here to taking one now, at least," 
said Will, smiling at the enthusiasm he had shown. 

"Well, I hope slavery will be abolished," said Harry. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


49 


‘The slave question has always been the bitterest in 
the politics of our country, according to history. 
Father says ‘it is the one stain in our national record;^ 
and I believe it is the real cause of this rebellion; I 
do hope the whole traffic will be done away with. ” 

"So do I,” said Will, heartily. "And I hope this 
war will close soon; but boys, we can’t imagine what 
the end will be! Think of the President’s call for 
200,000 men more — and the call in the South for as 
many! Why this will be the bloodiest war on record 
if they are all called into service, and it looks now as 
if they would be!” 

A soldier passed by just then, reading a letter, and 
the boys were upon their feet with discussions amica- 
bly settled. 

"Mail is in, boys," he said, noticing the three; "the 
train got as far as Hastings to-day and brought it.” 

"Hurrah for the mail!” exclaimed Will. 

"Hurrah for the train that brought it," said Clay. 

"Hurrah for the letters we’ll get," cried Harry, as 
they hurried off to mail-headquarters. 


CHAPTER IV 


LETTERS FROM HOME 

The arrival of the mail in times of peace is an event 
of importance anywhere. Some anxious watchers are 
always waiting its distribution; but in war times, a pen- 
picture is inadequate to express the picturesqueness of 
the scene. 

The news that the mail had come went like wild-fire 
through camp; and soon men with wives and babies at 
home — boys away for the first time, perhaps, with the 
fearful scene of battle fresh in their minds, listened 
with hushed breaths for their names. Ringing a glad 
“Here!” when his name is heard, and seizing the pre- 
cious envelope, every favored one falls back to devour 
its contents, his place being quickly filled by another 
with expectant look. Occasionally a name is reached 
whose owner does not respond; but some comrade calls, 
in subdued tones: “Among the slain,” or “taken 
prisoner;” and the letter is laid aside — the letter that 
comes too late. 

The mail is distributed when Will, Clay, and Harry 
arrive at headquarters and eagerly wait for the post- 
master to examine the boxes. 

“Clay and Harry Osborne,” is called. 

“Fathers writing!" cried Harry, as Clay hastily 
grabbed it. 

“Harry Osborne. ” “Here!’ and he sees the familiar 

48 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


49 


writing of Guy Harrington, his school-boy chum. 

Two more for Clay, in fine feminine chirographics, 
which he puts quickly in an inner pocket. 

Then turning to the M’s, while WilPs breath comes 
faster than its wont, he runs them o’er. At last, 
“Wm. Morris” comes, a letter in Grace’s own, even, 
hand-writing. ‘‘That’s all,” But ’twas enough, and 
they hurry away to the tent to read the precious mis- 
sives. 

Will’s letter was in a large envelope and was quite 
full. With some forebodings of the bad news it might 
contain, he tore it open: one from Grace, one from 
mother, and one from Floy. ‘‘All right then,” he 
thought, as he unfolded Grace’s and took a seat on the 
ground beside a lantern. 

‘‘Elm Cottage, July 7, 1861. 

My Dear Will: — We’re going to send you a regular 
budget of news this time, so draw a long breath, strike 
an easy position, and listen. Bless you! I wish I 
might say it all to you face to face, but that is impos- 
sible, so here goes per quill. 

“By ‘we’ I mean Mother Morris, Floy and myself; 
we are stationed at Elm Cottage, (that’s the name Floy 
gives our home. Will, and I like it; so if you don’t 
mind we will call it that way) permanently stationed 
here. Now you wonder what has happened, and Fll 
blurt it right out and have it over. Quite early in the 
morning of the Fourth, a large flag (Stars and Stripes) 
appeared above your father’s house and flapped, exult- 
antly, in the morning breeze! (Your mother couldn’t 
bear the idea that her home was less patriotic than 
that of her neighbors, so she had put it up.) Father 

4 


50 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Morris didn’t see it, for a time, but at length it caught 
his eye. He was very angry; you can imagine he 
couldn’t stand this open defiance of his will; and, get- 
ting his old musket, he aimed at it and broke it from 
its staff! actually shot it down! 

“Mother Morris was appalled at what she termed the 
‘infamous act!’ She knew he’d be angry, and won- 
dered if he would take it down; but for him to shoot 
at it was more than she could stand and she rushed 
out shouting: ‘Rebel, how dare you shoot at the flag 
my boy is facing bullets to defend!’ and before, noon, 
she was installed here. 

“The storm had been brewing ever since you went 
away. Your father felt bitter — was more severely 
wounded I think, than any of us guessed, at the time 
— that you should take up arms to put down as a 
treacherous ‘rebellion’ a cause he so warmly espoused, 
as the ‘revolution’ his Southern friends were waging. 
Mother was so heart-broken o’er the dangers you must 
face, that a word ’gainst the Union or Union soldiers 
‘riled’ her. So she was always on the defensive. He 
didn’t consider her feelings a minute; indeed he blamed 
her that you ever enlisted, and said hard things some- 
times, on purpose to provoke her. So it only needed 
a little start to make the cyclone. It came when the 
flag went down; for then (mother never heard of it 
before) it leaked out in the hot words that followed 
that he had forbidden you ever to enter his house 
again, and mother left it at once; only stopping to 
pack some of her own clothing, and a few keepsakes, 
which we have had a good cry over. 

“I don’t really think that Father Morris realized the 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


51 


crime of shooting at the flag, but took that method to 
get it down quickly. Proud old man! what a pity he 
isn’t on the right side! 

“A wagon, driving toward town just when the flag 
went down carried the news to town, and there was 
some excitement over it, as you will imagine. All has 
subsided now, though. Harvey and Father Morris had 
been talking a great deal of what mother thought dis- 
loyal sentiments; especially since Hiram’s letter came 
— oh! you don’t know about that! Something awful 
too. Will! But don’t feel badly, please. Will, I hate 
to tell you so much bad news! But remember. Will, 
you’re right; not from any selfish motive are you in the 
field; but you went as a brave, loyal citizen, at your 
country’s call for help! Now read: Your uncle, your 
two cousins and Hiram are all in the confederate ranks! 
Hiram is in Tennesee, and I do believe Harvey would 
have moved there and joined, too, had you not been in 
the Union ranks! ’’ 

Will buried his face in his hands, and his frame 
shook with emotion. ’Twas hard — so hard! His 
father shooting at the flag he’d give his life to preserve 
— the flag that many of his comrades had already been 
slain to keep floating; his old mother driven from the 
old home on account of his father’s rebel ideas; his 
half-brother in the confederate ranks! “Heaven grant 
we may never meet!” he groaned. 

Clay and Harry nad learned the news through their 
father’s letter, and longed to express their sympathy, 
but words seemed too inadequate. Harry went to his 
brother-in-law’s side though, and stroked his hair, for 
Will was his ideal hero; and Clay said; 


52 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“Don’t feel badly, old fellow, that’s only the natural 
consequence of a civil war — its saddest symptom.” 

Will was somewhat comforted too, and soon he read 
on: 

"Now Will, r\e told you all the bad news — I know 
you’ll feel shocked, at first, but I know you will rally 
and face it like your own brave self — bless you! 

“Floy wasn’t at home when the scene occurred, and 
going down as soon as she heard of it, she found 
mother packing up. Father told Floy that if mother 
went, she (mother) could never come back, and ordered 
her to choose between them. Floy said she wanted 
both of them. She came with mother, but goes back 
and forth. Fm glad she does, and I think mother is 
glad too. 

"Are you feeling badly, Will? How I wish I could 
be with you and help you bear it. Of course, we’ve 
heard through the neighbors that he means to apply 
for a divorce; mother says he can have it, but he needn’t 
be afraid of her coming back. The second morn- 
ing after the Fourth, the hired man drove up and un- 
loaded half the household goods; comforters, feather- 
beds, chairs, dishes, etc. Father Morris had sent them 
without a word. We stored them away in the smoke- 
house. I know mother feels terribly ‘out’ and her 
eyes are often red, after she has been out among the 
things; but she tries so hard to be cheery that Floy 
and I couldn’t do less than try, also.' Fll make her as 
comfortable as I can, Will, both for your sake and her 
own! So think of us as quite happy, lacking only you. 
Bless you! 

“Now I know you are yawning, and I’ll let you rest. 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


53 


But wait — I have eight music scholars who come to 
the house twice a week, so ^tis easy for me. It pays 
and it helps put in the time. Now, Will, be careful, 
very careful of yourself for my sake. Look after Clay 
and Harry, my darling brothers, — but I know you will. 

“How I wish I could know just where you are and 
what you are doing all the time! But I can only wait 
and pray for you. Write soon, your letters seem like 
gleams of sunshine. I must stop now, though I am 
not through talking to you. Good-bye, darling hus- 
band, good-bye. Your own Grace.” 

“Grace is a treasure," he commented, as he folded 
the newsy sheet. “Now, mother, what do you say? 
Poor old mother! " 

But he leaned back before reading it, thinking — 
thinking of home. A whole month had passed since 
this was written; what were they doing now? The 
dear, brave home guard! How sweet home, with its 
comfort and companionship, seems to the soldier in his 
bare tent and with the horrors of war, as partly por- 
trayed by the recent struggle, passing in pantomime 
before him! 

Taking at last his mother’s letter. Will gazed fondly 
at the uneven writing. 

“It makes me homesick, boys, more homesick than 
I’ve been yet. What! tears. Clay?” as Clay looked up 
from his father’s letter, wherein he had been reading 
of the stirring scene at Aaron Morris’ on the Fourth, 
and Will reached for the letter. 

“Let me read the account your father gives, won’t 
you? ’twill give more particulars, I fancy, and I have 


54 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


the right to know," and Clay, with some reluctance, 
handed it to him. 

"Tell Will to forgive me," it ran, "but for the 
moment I forgot that Morris was the father of the boy 
I love as my own son; forgot everything, but that the 
flag I loved so, and which my boys were facing death 
to defend, had been insulted. And I actually cried 
out: ‘Drive him out of the country! I’ll help a set of 
men see that he leaves!’ There had already been the 
cry of ‘Mob him!’ ‘Mob him!’ for the news had 
reached town just at the close of - a thrilling speech 
from Jim Wilson, in which a fine tribute had been paid 
to the flag, hundreds of which were flapping heaven- 
ward; and the excitement was now intense. 

"But at this juncture, good old Rev. Miller stepped 
into the midst of the crowd, and, with face and man- 
ner that quelled the tumult at once, made such a grand 
appeal for the old man; ‘hitherto, an exemplary cit- 
izen, worthy husband and father, but who made the 
great mistake of his life in holding to early training 
tenaciously, and who was so set in his ways that it 
was impossible for him to see when he was wrong.’ 
He then quoted the Savior — in condemning the sin- 
ning woman — ‘Let him that is without sin cast the 
first stone,’ and added, ‘that in punishing this offense 
we would wound one of the noblest soldiers in the 
Union ranks.’ 

"That reference to Will settled it, and the crowd dis- 
persed for dinner, after requesting Rev. Miller to warn 
Morris that another outbreak would not be treated so 
calmly! Good old loyal Polly left his house, at once 
— just as she should have done — and she and Floy and 
Grace are keeping house at the Cottage. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


55 


"There’5 no need for that though, for there’s plenty 
of room and welcome for them here until Will’s return. 
But Grace thought Polly would be more contented in 
a home of their own.” 

“Bless him! Your father is true blue, boys,” said 
Will huskily, as he handed the letter back. “I’m glad 
to know the particulars. Pretty tough, isn’t it, boys, 
to have all this family trouble, besides the common 
evils of war!” 

“I don’t believe, though, that your father realized 
the full enormity of the act of shooting at the flag,” 
said Harry. "But he did it just as he would have 
jerked it down if he had been on the roof!” 

"That’s so, Harry! I expect he was angry at mother 
for putting it up, contrary to his wishes; and it was as 
much to spite her as to get the flag down that he did 
it,” said Will, glad to find some sort of an excuse. 
"But it was intended as an insult to her, if not to 
Uncle Sam, and Pm glad she resented it as she did. 
Mother had the grit to stand up for the right, and for 
her own personal rights, too!” Then he added bitterly: 
"But Hiram, that’s too much! ” 

"’Tis a regular shame, old boy,” said Clay, sympa- 
thetically —"particularly for your family to have this 
trouble; for you all feel it so keenly." 

Other soldiers entered to read letters from other 
homes, as dear to them as homes could be to any, and 
with faces of varied expressions, they read silently; all 
save two disappointed ones, whose letters didn’t come; 
and they, poor fellows, walked away in the moon-light 
together, feeling lonely indeed, when all but they had 
the long-looked-for letters. 


50 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Will’s mother’s letter struck the right chord; it 
told of her deep anxiety for her boy’s welfare; con- 
cealed her own trouble and feelings of personal injury 
under quaint, cheery expressions. This about the pack- 
ing-up touched Will deeply: 

“I was mad, and jerked down my own toggery in a 
hurry; but in the back corner of the bureau, I came 
across the precious box of things that belonged to our 
darling little boy that died, and I broke down entirely. 
That little laughing face came up before me; and the 
little grave, way back in Virginia where we laid his 
tiny body to sleep, I could see so plainly — I remember 
how Aaron cried like a child when he died, how kind 
and comforting he was to me; and God only knows 
what it cost me to decide what to do — but I divided 
the lock of brown curls, wet with both our tears many 
times, and divided the little clothes; the darling was 
his’n as well as mine. Never to my dying day. can I 
forget that trying hour! Then I found in that drawer 
of family keepsakes the first little shoes you ever wore 
— I could see again Aaron’s proud happy look, when 
they told him that you, our first baby, was a boy. 

"How he loved and petted you! And now to think 
— oh God, ’tis hard to bear, he forbids that darling 
boy ever entering his house again; and for no reason 
on earth but that he was loyal and true to his country 
— my own darling boy. 

"Do you feel like you were kicked out into the cold? 
Not while your mother lives! I live now to welcome 
you home. I’ll have no home where my brave boy is 
not welcome. I brought your little shoes and play- 
things, and here I am at your house, with Grace, to 
wait and pray for you. " 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


57 


Floy’s letter was like her, a true comfort, for she 
wrote as she would have talked to him. Folding these 
letters together he hastily left the tent that no one might 
see how deeply he was moved. "It is so hard to bear!" 
he soliloquized, though only the set lines about the 
firm mouth betrayed unpleasant thoughts to the by- 
standers. "Why must this home be broken up, and m}^ 
poor old mother’s heart grieved, all besides the sac- 
rifice of lives here in battle? 

"This rebellious South, which brings all this suffer- 
ing upon us, shall pay the cost!" 

And a harder, more bitter feeling than ever, filled 
him against the leaders of the rebellion, if not all the 
Confederate soldiers. 

"And my half-brother. Hi, in the Confederate ranks 
— firing at the flag and Union soldiers! What if we 
should meet? God grant we never may! I can face 
a stranger Reb., but it would be hard to know I was 
shooting against a line which held my brother. Still 
I’d do it, I suppose. But, heaven grant I may be 
spared that, at least!" 

Will remembered Hiram as a good-hearted fellow, 
who had always petted him, and had helped him climb 
many a tree and catch many a rabbit, which he could 
not manage himself. 

That night dreams of home and home-folks prevailed, 
and the morrow found better, as well as wiser, men, 
through the white-winged messengers that visited the 
camp that night. Early next morning, the boys heard 
the guard halt some one, who called in answer: 

"Don’t shoot! Shure an’ its meself, it is! Pat, you 
know!" 


58 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“Sure enough!" said the guard. “The top of the 
morning to you, Pat. ” 

“And the rist of the day to yerself, sir, " replied Pat, 
and soon reached the tent, his face radiant as the sum- 
mer morning, rose-tinted and all, like a model son of 
Erin. 

“Masther Morris, faith an’ would ye be so kind as 
to read a bit of mae letter for me? Sure and it’s a 
foine one from Kate herself. An’ Moike — did ye ever 
see Moike, Mr. Morris? an’ its roight smart Moike is 
— he was a goin’ to write, too, but went to woruk a 
spell. ” 

’Twas a pleasure to Will to comply with the request, 
and, while Pat beamed down upon him, he read: 

“deer pat: — i take my pen in hand (faith an’ it’s a 
pensul, though) to let you know as how we’re all well 
an’ a kicking, only baby pat’s got an awful bad cold 
an’ I hopes this will foind yer the same. An’ it’s 
mighty koind ivery body is to mae, and the little fel- 
lers, but i can’t slape nights for thinkin’ of yer an’ 
wonderin’ if yer is kilt yit. 

“An’ i hope as how ye’ll git em licked al roight and 
come home soon. Faith, and it would do yer eyes 
good to see leetle pathrick, mees Grace giv him a foine 
new dress, white calicoes, wid leetle black pigs eyes 
in it, an’ shure an’ he lukes swate enough to ate. 

"She an’ the old missus came afthur mae to go to her 
meetin’ to talk about helpin’ the solyers, an’ trated mae 
jist loike i was a foine laddy. ” 

Here Pat interrupted with: Be jabbers, an’ yer 

ould woman an’ my Kate are a gettin’ moighty thick 
— Kate moost be gittin’ moighty foine since Pve been 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


59 


in the army, a gaddin’ round loike the best of em! an’ 
it’s a foine leddy she is, too! ’’ 

Pat stood, arms akimbo, leaning forward, listening 
with an elastic smile that stretched now into a broad 
grin. 

"A common interest breaks down the barriers of 
wealth and ‘fickle fortune’ and begets a sympathy 
which counts not dress nor humble circumstances,” 
said Will, thinking of that other “foine leddy.” “But 
shall I read on?” 

“An, hev yer seen anything on the quaen? an’ Pat, 
do make yer self scarce if they fire any bullets, i can’t 
think of nothin’ more to tole yer about. Och, Pat an’ 
i loike to see yer — but Pve writ yer a long letter 
which i hopes yer’ll git him shure. we got yer letter 
and the leetle fellers all cried for yer to come, i’ll 
get mees Grace to fix the backin’ of it so ye’ll git it, 
sartin shure. Moike was a goin’ to write to yer but 
docther osbprne saint fur him to chop him some wood, 
he’s chopped some afore fur him already and the doc- 
ther paid dubble money an roight on the spot — just 
loike he was a man, moike feels awful big over it now 
i must close and go to woruk. good luck to yees. 
Your lovin’ wife, Kate mcGuire. ” 

Pat’s eye glistened with something that wasn’t Irish 
wit as with, “Now I’ll be off fur mae hart tack and 
bacon! ” he hurried away with the precious paper in 
his hand. 

These letters in camp acted like magic in breaking 
down the barriers of reserve and making the boys per- 
sonal friends. That morning, groups of men stood 
chatting familiarly, or, stretched beneath the shade of 


()0 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


a hospitable tree, they compared notes upon their 
homes and families. Reserved men became talka- 
tive; the most coldly reserved melted into confidential 
talkers and sympathetic listeners. 

Most of the letters were cheerful; for the brave 
home-folks thoughtfully withheld all mention of the 
hardships and the dreariness of the waiting and gave 
only the good news, which the already tried hearts 
needed. 

Once, during the afternoon, Harry ventured to ask 
Will if Floy said anything about school, and was 
rewarded by Will handing him her letter, promptly say- 
ing, with a laugh that was joined in by the bystand- 
ers: 

“Excuse me, Harry, for not thinking you’d want to 
read Floy’s letter; it certainly was an oversight.” 

“’Tis all forgot, replied the boy,’” quoted Harry, 
nothing daunted, and with a merry whistle he sought 
a shady nook to read it. 

How familiar the round girlish hand-writing looked! 
He could almost see the plump hand penning it, and 
the round face and brown eyes bending over it; while 
the old school-room in Mapleton with the boys and 
girls seated in their accustomed places came up before 
him, and such a sense of loneliness filled him. that he 
involuntarily sighed. But he rallied the next moment 
at the thought of the flag he was here to defend, and 
the worthy cause that it symbolized. 

He kissed the letter, looking guiltily around to see 
if the act was witnessed, then read it almost reverently. 
It ran: 

“My Dear Old Brother Will; — I expect Grace has 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


61 


writteii you everything, and of course you’ll read her 
letter first; so this will be all stale news. But I’m 
glad Grace wrote about the fuss; for I don’t like to 
think about it; it’s bad enough to have you and every- 
body else gone to the war without having it break up 
the family, too. But, anyway, it can’t be helped now; 
so there’s no use blubbering over it; I have cried until 
my eyes and nose are red, and swollen so, that I look 
like a baboon. 

"Oh, I don’t know what to do! everybody and every- 
thing is all going wrong. How I wish the cruel war 
had never begun, we were all so happy before that! 
But I won’t cry, ’tisn’t any use — it just makes my 
head ache. I wish you were here. Will, to tell me 
what to do. But I’m going to do — just what I think 
you’d want me to do — love them both, and be as com- 
forting to them as I can; for they both feel badly, I 
know, though they pretend they don’t care. Oh, it’s 
so bad anyhow! Do hurry home. Will, and make 
things right. Grace is as sweet as she can be; I just 
love her, but — oh dear! I’m crying again! 

"We had a big celebration on the Fourth (before I 
knew about the trouble at the house, I had a fine time, 
though we missed you boys, dreadfully). We didn’t 
have the states represented this time, because not a 
girl in town would be a Southern state! 

"Grace’s S. S. class — I’m one of them and there’s 
fourteen more — sang three patriotic songs. We prac- 
ticed at the cottage (Elm Cottage), where we live all 
the time now. Grace had been staying at Dr. Osborne’s 
most of the time before the trouble, but always gave 
music lessons here on Wednesdays and Saturdays. 


63 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


We’re snug as a bug in a rug — rather as three bugs in 
one rug — so don’t fret about us; but hurry home. Tell 
Harry we were all glad when school was out, it had 
been so lonesome. 

“Remember me to all the Mapleton boys — I hope • 
all of them will return. I hope you’ll be home by 
Christmas — of course you will, though. 

“P. S. Don’t you go into Tennessee! Brother Hi is 
there, you know. ” 

“Dear little brown-eyed Floy,” thought H'arry. “If 
she cried till her eyes and nose were red, she must 
have felt awfully badly; for she never cried easily like 
most girls. I wish she had written to me. But I’m 
only a boy and she’d laugh at me if I’d ask her to. 
I’ll keep this letter though all O. K. — Will can’t carry 
so much around, and he’s got a huge letter from my 
sister." 

Suiting the action to the word he folded it and put 
it carefully in an inner pocket. “Am I lovesick?” 
And he smiled half merrily, half sadly. “No! but I 
would be if we were both five years older.” Then he 
took from his pocket a picture he carried always there, 
and gazed long into the brown eyes that laughed back 
into his; then said to himself: 

“Floy, you’re the sweetest, cutest little girl in the 
world; and when I do love anybody it will be you; 
‘sartain shure,’ as Pat says. But, sweet little face, stay 
with me now while I stand by the old flag, and Floy 
— away off in your cozy little home — think of me 
kindly and be glad when I come home!” 

He lay, the picture of easy repose, stretched out at 

full length upon the velvety turf, his head resting 


DEBTOR /tND CREDITOR 


63 


upon his elbow; and Clay watched him several min- 
utes, loath to break the quiet day-dreams and call the 
dreamer back to the knowledge of cold facts and hard 
action. 

“Come, old chap, put her picture away and shoulder 
your knapsack. We march at 2 p. m. ; have orders 
to join Grant within a week.” 

Harry was upon his feet with the picture concealed, 
in a moment, confused that e^/en Clay saw him indulg- 
ing in this bit of sentiment. But it was no time to 
tease, and Clay dreaded this march for the “boy- 
soldier," as they called him, who was just out of 
school and never tried his skill as a pedestrian before. 

The side-meat, hard-tack and coffee was hastily 
served and at 2 p. m. the army moved, marching to 
the tune of “The girl I left behind me." The boys 
stepped it proudly, feeling that the “age of chivalry” 
was not yet passed, but that for the sake of their own 
' fair lady’s” — whether wife, mother, sweetheart — and for 
Liberty’s sake, a bold, brave effort woula have to be 
made to bring this war to a successful close and rende^ 
home and country safe. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp — soon to be foot-sore and 
weary. 


CHAPTER V 


THE CHRISTMAS BOX 

"Well,” said Aunt Polly Morris, President of the 
Women’s Soldiers’ Aid Society, looking about her 
into excited faces, “you have heard both sides of the 
question thoroughly discussed. Think well for your- 
selves now and decide ’cording to your best judgment. 
As for me, I’m in favor of having the dinner all in 
common, but each one sending any present she pleases 
to any of the Company. ’Pears to me like it’s only 
nat’ral to want to send a little special gift to your own 
soldier; and we can, as a whole society, see that every- 
body gets something suitable. Are you ready for the 
question? As many as are in favor of the motion may 
rise to their feet — be seated. Those opposed make it 
known by the same sign." Nearly all rise at the first 
call; the rest look sour. 

“The motion is lost, and each one can remember her 
special friend or friends as she thinks best. Now 
what other business have we got before the society?" 
a look of relief crossing her face, for Aunt Polly was 
decidedly in favor of a dinner for all, but special pres- 
ents for the ones dearest to the givers. 

“Well, thin, what are we to sind, and how are we to 
sind it?” asked Kate McGuire. 

Kate McGuire was one of the active members of the 
W. S. A. S., though a year ago the idea of any one’s 

64 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


65 


asking her would have been laughed at, for she was 
only Pat McGuire’s wife, the washerwoman; and Kate 
would have never dreamed of attending a public meet- 
ing of any kind, never been noticed if she had. But 
since the soldiers marched away to defend a common 
♦cause, soldiers’ wives and families met on a level, for 
all had a common trouble, a common interest. 

“We want a good square Christmas dinner, made up 
of turkeys, chickens, ducks, cakes, doughnuts, pies, 
jelly, pickles, fruits — in fact anything we can think of 
and fix, that can be sent without spoiling or without 
danger of spoiling something else — the greater variety 
the better. We’ll make them think they’ve got some 
Christmas and friends!” said Aunt Polly, full of plans 
for a generous dinner. “Then we can all send some 
socks, gloves, mittens, kerchiefs, or anything at all 
that will go toward making the soldiers comfortabler 
and happier.” 

“Thin faith, and Pll jist sind Pat a pair of Pattie’s 
last winter’s socks, to lit him sae how mooch the dar- 
lint has growed since he wint away to put down thim 
Anglish and Rebs. An’, be jabbers, Pll sind him thim 
three ducks and that’s all I can spare, for that’s all 
we’ve got!” 

They all laughed at the characteristic speech and 
the idea that Kate was going to send little Pat’s last 
winter’s socks to show Pat, Sr., how much he’d grown; 
he had only been away from home since April. But 
Kate’s heart was all right and the}^ knew it. 

When quiet was restored. Aunt Polly went on: 

“We all understand, then, that we are to bring our 
things, eatables and presents here next Monday, take 


5 


6G 


IV HAT IT COST; OR 


a plenty of time to pack ’em good, and have the box 
ready to start to ’em next day. That’ll be the first of 
the month and it will have plenty of time to reach ’em 
in twenty-five days. Dr. Osborne said he’d get the 
box and have it here — Elizabeth, tell him to be sure to 
get a good large one.” 

Then the W. S. A. S. — or the Women’s Sass Com- 
pany, as the Doctor called it — adjourned to meet on 
Monday with their bundles. 

The next three days were busy ones; for the women 
of that village seemed to be trying to outdo one an- 
other, not simply for the sake of triumphing over one 
another, but to show the love they bore their own and 
the soldiers in general. Early Monday morning, the 
baskets, boxes and bundles began to reach the hall, and 
at ten o’clock all were ready for packing. The only 
male member of the "Women’s S. A. S. ” was there, 
on time, with a box “big a plenty for us all to go in,” 
Kate said. 

"My bundle is going in last, on the top of the box, 
then the boys will get it first,” said Mrs. Clayton, very 
injudiciously; for if she had not mentioned it, she’d 
have had no opposition in securing the place. But 
now many wanted their friends to be first remembered, 
were afraid their bundles would be mashed, etc., no- 
body’s parcel was ready to be packed first, for every- 
body’s dear ones "are a heap the best to them.” 

Grace was the first to give way, saying: "My things 
will keep any place, so put them at the bottom." Ac- 
cordingly a neatly wrapped package was put in the 
bottom, marked "Wm. Morris.” 

Others followed, and soon the box was half full, and 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


67 


the dinner was yet to be put in. At half-past eleven, 
came a bevy of High School girls accompanied by 
Prof. Baker, the new Principal, whom the matrons 
dubbed "a stuck-up Easterner.” Each of the girls had 
from one to a dozen little packages. Floy and Lois 
(the minister’s daughter) had .each a secret one; the 
other girls were on the alert to find out what they 
were and to whom addressed. Both the girls thought 
they had them safely packed, but school-girls are good 
detectives when their curiosity and love of fun are 
aroused; and before Lois saw their sly movements, 
they had slipped her package out, and one of them 
read aloud the name, "John Edwards! ” 

Lois’ face turned scarlet, then pale, then scarlet 
again, and a sly whisper ran among the girls that it 
"plagued the teacher, too!” 

Floy was too quick for them, and her package was 
soon beneath others, that were larger and heavier; but 
none of which were to serve a better purpose. 

"Well," said Dr. Osborne. “I was in favor of giv- 
ing to all alike, and have done so to some extent.” 

Here he unrolled the huge bundle he had brought, 
and there was a suit of good woolen underwear for 
each of the twenty-seven Mapleton boys. They had 
cost no small sum, but the doctor was repaid, then 
and there, if good words and kind thoughts can be 
reckoned in dollars and cents. 

Kate McGuire had a small package — and it was a 
wonder that she had anything to send away for she had 
a hard time to keep the wolf from the door; six sturdy 
children with Irish stomachs are no small family, when 
seated around the table, and Kate "had a hard time of 


08 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


ity" as Pat had predicted. Often enough her heart, as 
well as her back, ached when she came home from 
washing here, there, and everwhere. But she had a 
cheery disposition and tried to see the bright side of 
everything. She had “a hard row to hoe," but she 
loved her children, dearly, and who knows but that 
her enjoyment was greater than that of many others 
whose comforts far surpassed hers. 

Later, she came again, with a radiant face and a 
large roll, all tied up neatly, with the name "Patrick 
McGuire, from Kate,” upon it. Those who saw it 
said the hand-writing was the same as that in which 
"Wm. Morris" was written on the package which went 
first in the box. 

Finally, they put the dinner in, and it was indeed a 
delicious one, for every house-wife had done her very 
best. This was a time when no one was afraid of 
doing more than was her share, there was no grumbling 
about stinginess, each one was perfectly satisfied with 
the work of every other. 

But the greatest surprise came when Mr. Wells, the 
old miller, whom everybody said was too stingy to 
give anything, came over with his wife. 

"I have not much time to spend from the mill, for 
we are rushed now," he said, while his wife dropped 
a package into the box. "But,” he added, while a 
tear glistened in his eye, "I guess the boys are having 
a pretty hard time of it, and Pll give this to buy knick- 
knacks with, to go with their dinner; ” as he spoke he 
handed Aunt Polly a ten-dollar gold piece and quietly 
walked out. The Bible says: "There is more rejoicing 
over the sinner that repenteth than over the ninety and 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


69 


nine just ones who go not astray;” and ’twas . demon- 
strated by this contribution, for over it was more glad 
comments than over all the rest combined. 

“Well,” said Aunt Polly, “we often condemn too 
soon; this is not the first time in the history of this 
town, either, when harsh judgment was pronounced 
too quick!” 

And Dr. Osborne quoted aptly: “In men whom 
men condemn as ill, I find so much of goodness still; 
in men whom men pronounce divine, I find so much 
of sin and blot — I hesitate to draw a line between the 
two, where God has not. ” 

The box was all ready by four o’clock; and, in pro- 
portion to the weight of the box, the hearts of those 
who filled it were brightened. Next morning who 
should drive up to the hall but the miller with his dray 
to take the box to the station. Dr. Osborne helped, of 
course, and besides the address, it was marked on all 
sides — “Handle with Care.” 

On the morning of December 20th, the express wagon 
brought a huge box into camp, addressed to “Capt. 
Warner, Co. F, of 7th Iowa — for the Mapleton boys.” 
“Handle with care” printed on all sides of it, and “N. 
B. — To be opened on Christmas morning.” Every 
Mapleton boy had, before noon, that day, been up to 
Capt. Warner’s tent and examined the box; guessed on 
the weight; noticed the iron straps that bound it; read 
and re-read the words on the outside, but could only 
guess at its contents. 

The five days, finally, rolled round and found the 
army still in camp. Christmas morn came clear and 
pleasant. 


70 


JVHAT IT COST; 'OR 


At an early hour, the boys all reported at 
Capt. Warner’s tent, and the box was delivered to 
them. Soon the lid was off, in spite of its iron straps, 
and the first thing that greeted their eyes was a letter 
addressed “To the Mapleton boys,” which said: 

"Dear Soldier Boys: — We wish you a peaceful, 
happy Christmas! You will find a dinner here for the 
whole of Co. F, and a package near the center con- 
taining a suit of underweai for each of the twenty- 
seven Mapleton boys. In the middle of that bundle 
you will find a gold coin to buy knickknacks with, or 
anything to make the dinner more complete. 

“The individual presents at the bottom explain them- 
selves. Again we wish you a happy Christmas and 
wuth a prayer to Him whose birthday we celebrate, for 
His faithful guidance and loving care over you. 

"We remain as ever yours, 

"Wives, Sisters, Mothers, 

"Of the Women’s Soldiers’ Aid Society, 

Mapleton, Iowa." 

All now was happiness and pure unadulterated love 
for the dear ones at home! A rousing cheer they gave 
for the donors. “Where’s the presents?" cried a voice 
from among the crowd. "Give me the package my 
wife sent and I can risk getting part of the grub." 

“Let’s have the individual presents first!" said an- 
other, and the cry “presents," “presents," became the 
general call. 

“Two of you boys assist me then," said Capt. War- 
ner, “and we’ll just set these packages, without names, 
which, evidently, is the Christmas dinner, aside for 
the time. Bless their kind hearts, they have sent a 


DEBTOR AhlD CREDITOR 


11 


bountiful supply! Then I would suggest that Clay 
Osborne be selected to take the special bundles out 
and distribute them.” 

In a moment Clay was seized and borne forward; the 
dinner, still unwrapped was placed in a safe corner. 
Clay, with a tinge of embarrassment at the conspicu- 
ous place he had been marshaled to, began unloading 
the treasures while the rest tried to show no impa- 
tience. 

The first package was for the Clayton brothers; the 
next for Capt. Warner; then a neat box for Clarke, 
which caused the tears to fill his eyes; and so on they 
were remembered. The paper wrappings were torn 
from the mysterious bundles in one-half the time they 
were put on. A miscellaneous assortment of books, 
papers, albums, pins, mittens, handkerchiefs, socks 
etc., was revealed. 

Pat stood with eyes and ears open waiting for them 
to get through and ready for dinner; for he had no 
idea of getting anything out of this collection. 

“Faith, an’ Katie will hev all she can do to take 
care of leetle Patrick at home," he remarked, in 
supreme indifference, to Will. “She’s got her hands 
full of them leetle fellers without sparing for mae. ’’ 
But just as he had finished, out came a neat roll for 
“Patrick McGuire.” 

“Faith, an’ that’s maself, an' pass him up quick. 
Be jabbers and who would think ot thet ould woman a- 
sinding of such noice things to the likes of meself. ’’ 

Before he had finished talking — but Pat never fin- 
ished — Will Morris, who had seen the hand-writing on 
the outside, knew that someone else had planned and 


72 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


executed the deed, to help “Katie” out in her bundle 
to Pat. Clay had already laid aside two neat packages 
on which he looked very wistfully, but went on unload- 
ing the box. As he called off names of others he found 
real pleasure in the beaming faces and glad “Heres” 
that received them. 

“I’ll hand out a few, if there’s no objection, while 
you open yours,” said Harry. 

Clay quickly stepped aside and, seizing a curious 
little package addressed in an even feminine hand-writ- 
ing, began to untie it carefully, when his attention 
was arrested by the disturbance at the box. 

Harry had taken a survey of the bundles and in- 
stinctively taken up a tiny one in comparison to the 
huge “roll of comforts” as the boys called them; and 
had found his own name on the under side, in the 
round girlish letters he well knew. Without waiting 
for someone to relieve him, Harry tore off the paper 
and revealed a tiny gold locket which he recognized. 
He blushed as its sender herself would have done in 
mingled confusion and pleasure as several of the 
Mapleton boys who were mischievously watching him 
called out: 

“Hello! Floy’s locket!” “I know that!” “I’ve 
gone to school with that!” 

Will asked to see it and without a word Harry 
passed it over. The next instant. Will Morris kissed 
a lock of brown hair which had once carressed the 
brow of his darling little sister. Harry jealously re- 
placed it in the locket and slipped it into his vest 
pocket, realizing only part of its mission. 

Will’s name hadn’t been mentioned, though the box 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


73 


was nearly unpacked. Clay Osborne had many little 
keepsakes from his girl friends, but the one which 
brought him real pleasure was a gold watch from the 
banker whose books he had so faithfully kept for two 
years. Harry’s name was often called by Clay now. John 
Edwards was remembered handsomely, a silk muffler 
with the initials “L. M." embroidered in one corner 
he handled with special care. 

Finally but three packages remained in the box and 
Will Morris’s name had not been called. In spite of 
his self-command Will began to feel disappointed, 
though he tried to make excuses. Every boy from 
Mapleton had noticed that Will, the general favorite 
of the company, had received nothing but one of the 
twenty-seven suits common to all. Was someone 
going to be disappointed? if so, all would be, in a 
measure. 

"There must be some mistake," said some one. Now 
another package was taken up. "Clarke Wells;” at the 
name Will gave up hope and nerved himself to appear 
content. "Wm. Morris," "Wm. Morris,” on both the 
remaining packages, made the company clap their 
hands, and Will, though a man, felt "choky." 

Soon the strings were carefully untied and the great 
bundle, as if it had life and wanted to be seen, un- 
rolled itself. 

"The nicest of all!" exclaimed the bystanders, and 
’twas well said. Will caught sight of a picture tied 
carefully between two sheets of pasteboard and eager- 
ly took it, guessing who’s portrait was there. 

’Twas but an instant until it was opened and great 
eyes were beaming upon him for the first time, and 


74 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


he read the words, “Gwendolyn Morris to her Papa. 
Bless him!” beneath the miniature baby. 

The picture was passed to each of the Mapleton 
boys and was greeted with various comments. “Just 
like Grace," some said. “The very picture of Aunt 
Polly," came from others; while some could see 
“Grace’s eyes and Will’s expression" and vice versa. 

“Be jabbers an’ she looks as much like my leetle 
Pathrick at home as leetle P^thrick looks like meself, ’’ 
said Pat, and Will joined in the hearty laugh that went 
up. 

“Now, boys, three cheers for “Baby Gwen," proposed 
the captain, “may the Stars and Stripes ever float above 
her!" 

The cheers were given with a vim that brought the 
soldiers from their tents. 

Will kissed the tiny face again and again, then put 
it tenderly away, with the thought of one more tie, 
back at the “dear old home." Then, taking the other 
articles from their places he read the names of the 
givers, — “Grace," “Mother," “Floy" on various ones. 

Many of the boys hovered near to help Will enjoy 
them, among them Pat, who observed: 

“Be gorra, an’ the things Mees Grace sint you are 
loike what Katie sint me as two peas! Be jabbers 
and thim gals loikes things the same now, don’t they?" 

Then all clamored for the dinner — the dinner pre- 
pared with so much love and painstaking, each 
article the embodiment of a precious one’s love and 
thought for the comfort of the absent. Over each arti- 
cle had been breathed a prayer for heaven’s blessings 
upon the dear one, and heaven’s protection in time of 
panger. 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


75 


The captain’s suggestion that the dinner be un- 
wrapped and spread by the six whose names stood first 
on the army roll was followed, and Wm. Morris, Patrick 
McGuire, John Edwards, Clay Osborne, John Stephens 
and Charlie Larson arranged the long table on the 
ground, with tenting for table-cloth. The company 
stood around while they did it, joking the merriest 
since entering service. Each boy, as the dinner was 
unwrapped, selected what he thoughc his mother, wife 
or sister had made, and gave his reasons for thinking 
so. There was one large pyramid cake with the words 
"Peace on earth — good-will to men" on the top, and a 
silken flag of stars and stripes sticking from its center, 
so packed that when Will unwrapped it the flag stood 
upright and floated! It was greeted with a cheer and 
given the honored place at the center of the table. 
Something whispered to Will that Grace made that 
cake and planned it, and ever and anon his eyes turned 
toward it for some proof of the fact. 

At last the dinner was ready. There it stood, doubly 
inviting because it was mother’s or some other dear 
one’s special cooking! It was served without silver 
service, or even knives and forks or plates, but never 
was a dinner more heartily enjoyed or more com- 
pletely devoured. The soldiers did not sit in one 
place during the entire meal, but moved dexterously, 
from one point of advantage to another, reaching for 
"mother’s mince pies” — "sister Mary’s cake" — "Aunt 
Hannah’s pickles, " etc. Harry vowed he found the 
grape-jelly his mother had put in, knowing his relish 
for it — Clay, the doughnuts whose particular flavor he 
had tasted every Christmas since he could remember. 


76 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Pat cried out: "Faith an’ be jabbers, Katie put in the 
ducks, fur there’s just three of thim an’ that was the 
same she had! Plaze pass the ducks over here! ’’ 

On the silken flag, floating from the cake at the cen- 
ter of the table. Will found a tiny "G. M. to W. M." 
which brought the tears in a moment, and he laid it 
away with Grace’s Testament and Baby Gwen’s pic- 
ture. 

There was another Christmas box that year. Far 
away in the North, a stern faced old man received one 
which brought the tears to his sharp strong eyes. 

Since that memorable July 4th, Aaron Morris had 
lived all alone. He had dismissed his hired man, sold 
nearly all his stock, and was virtually a hermit. 

Harvey and his two little boys would come fre- 
quently, sometimes his wife accompanied them; but 
the long mornings and evenings he spent quite alone 
— Floy’s coming the only real gleam of sunshine his 
dark life knew. 

A man with an ordinary will would have died from 
sheer loneliness or have given up his antagonism 
against the Union and been reconciled to his family. 
But that iron-clad will had never bent, and now that 
the whole community condemned his acts and princi- 
ples, ’twould have been too humiliating for Aaron Mor- 
ris to give up one inch of the disputed territory. He 
had loved his family; he had never maltreated Polly; 
had given his children good schooling, and that was 
more than he ever had had himself; but a few months 
ago he was happy and contented. Will was a prom- 
ising lad — how fondly proud he had been of his keen 
intellect and high principles! He and the boy could 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


77 


be seen planning farm work or discussing interesting 
topics, more like two brothers than like father and son. 
The evenings always brought a romp with Floy, his 
only daughter, and, no matter how hard he had worked, 
he was never too tired to hold her or answer her child- 
ish questions; never too much interested in his papers 
to play “Peek-a-boo,” or feign sleep while she would 
“sip up on him and teal a kiss from my papa’s moufe," 
as she expressed it. Aaron Morris had known what 
home, with all its blessings, meant; had known the 
happiness of living in companionship with sweet child- 
ren and a fond, true wife. How could he now live so 
isolated? How endure the thought that his youngest 
son was defending the Stars and Stripes while his old- 
est son was fighting for the stars and bars? 

His wife had not set foot on the place since July' 
4th. Floy, at first, had come every day, and petted 
him and showed her love for her father, and shed bitter 
tears when she bade him good-bye for another day. 

When Floy would not choose between them, her 
father and mother had made a solemn pledge that 
neither should ever say a disparaging word of the 
other in her presence, or try to influence her for or 
against the other. Floy at first went down to the old 
home every day, but by and by neglected the duty 
once, twice, three times. And since “Baby Gwen” 
came to stay at the cottage, and school had begun 
again, Saturdays and Sundays were the only times he 
was sure of her coming. Rev. Miller had been out to 
see him a few times and tried to persuade him to still 
come to church, but never but once had he complied 
with his arguments. He had said, with a quiver in his 


voice: 


78 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“No, Bro. Miller, we will never meet in a sanctuary 
again until w’e meet in that one whose center is the 
great white tnrone; where there is no North, no South; 
where justice reigns and wrong and oppression are un- 
known — where all rally round one worthy Commander, 
and where one great victory has ransomed a world." 

Such was the state of affairs when Christmas eve 
came round. The night was cold and dark, and a bleak, 
drear wind whistled a fitting accompaniment to Aaron 
Morris’ sad thoughts, as he sat by his fireside and 
listened to the moan of the wind through the branches 
of the great oak near the window. He was thinking 
of his boys far away in the two conflicting armies; of 
his wife and only daughter in another home than this, 
where they had spent so many happy holidays. Here, 
by the fire-place, Floy used to hang her stockings for 
Santa Claus to fill, and he never failed to come down 
that chimney; here Polly baked sweet corn-pone for 
him, in the oven before the fire. He thought it all 
over and the bitter happenings of this last year, and, 
for the first time since in the long, long ago when 
that one had breathed her life away, far back in Vir- 
ginia, he bowed his head upon his hands and wept. 

He sat thinking until the candle went out for want 
of snffiung and the fire burned low on the hearth. 
Then, till nothing was left but the great, green back- 
log which could only smoke and snap as the sap fried 
out at the ends. 

Finally he roused himself, and striking a match, 
looked at the big figures on the old wooden clock. 
’Twas one o’clock, and in an audible voice he said: 

“Well, it’s strange I never heard the clock strike; 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


79 


that’s the first time for six months I haven’t heard the 
clock strike twelve." 

In a short time he was locked in the soft but strong 
embrace of sleep. 

The next morning dawned clear and calm, and as the 
golden sun rose up slowly, between the two fiery pillars 
in the eastern horizon — whose presence betokens a cold 
morning — its rays kissed the brow of a "maiden fair" 
as she tripped along the sunny side of a hedge fence. 

She is at the gate now, and pushes it back just far 
enough to get through, then holds it until it closes 
against the post, lest the heavy weight should shut it 
with a bang that might be heard by her father. 

She meant to surprise him, and did not want him to 
see or hear her until she should bound into the house 
with a — 

"Happy Christmas.” 

Noiselessly she slipped down the leaf-covered path — 
which used to be kept clean by constant use, but now 
looked like a forsaken byway. Crossing the porch, she 
reached the door, and with soft continued pressure 
tried to open it; but no — ’twas locked; brushing aside 
the dry vines, which she herself had planted, she 
peeped in through the window. 

"Why, pa is sleeping yet!" she said, "and I won’t 
disturb him. Wonder if I’ve a pencil?" 

Finding one she wrote on her basket handle "Christ- 
mas gift from Floy to her dear Papa." Then com- 
menced to write — "I wish you a happy Christmas" — but 
stopped as she thought ’twould seem like mockery, 
and, leaving the basket in front of the door on the 
porch, she ran down the path as fast as she could to 


80 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


keep him Irom hearing the half-suppressed sobs that 
came involuntarily, as she thought of the change one 
year had wrought in her family. 

The clock striking eight awoke Aaron Morris, and 
feeling rested, he got up at once, slipped on his pan- 
taloons and opened the door to see the new sun; but 
he didn’t look at the sun or even toward it, for the 
basket met his eye, and seeing the words “Floy" and 
“Papa," he instantly seized it and bore it into the 
house in triumph. 

“Well, Floy, you couldn’t have suited me better, "he 
said, as he unrolled the comfortable woolen socks; 
though he knew it was not Floy’s hands that had 
carded, spun and knit them. 

“And here’s a good new flannel shirt— why Floy,” a 
merry twinkle shone in his eye as he said it, “you love 
your old ‘Papa,’ don’t you?" But well he knew that 
Floy never took a stitch upon it. Mittens, cuffs and 
knit suspenders were taken out; another paper was 
lifted, and a sight met his gaze that would do any 
hungry man good to look upon. Roasted chicken, 
pies, cakes, jelly, cookies, sweet “corn-pone,” bread 
and butter, pickled-apples and peach preserves — a lux- 
urious repast to a man who usually dined on meat, 
flapjacks and coffee; and down in the bottom was an 
English plum-pudding, which was the finishing touch 
to the holiday knickknacks; for never since Floy was a 
baby had the Morrises had a Christmas dinner without 
an old-fashioned plum-pudding. 

Floy had two dinners that day; one at Elm Cottage 
at twelve o’clock (with the Dr. and Mrs. Osborne for 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


81 


guests) and the other at two p. m. at her old home, 
alone with her father. 

“We had a real nice holiday,” said Floy, when she 
came back to the cottage at four o'clock. 

"I do wish the cruel war was over! All wish that,” 
said Aunt Polly, and soon went into the bedroom. 
Traces of real grief were written on her usually calm 
face when she came back to the little family. 

That night, Monday, they would have a Christmas- 
tree at the church. The folks from Elm Cottage ex- 
pected little, but met with an agreeable surprise; espe- 
cially Floy, who received a handsome set of furs and 
cap to match — and a garnet merino dress-pattern, 
much to her delight. 

Grace^s name was called several times during the 
evening, but the wonder was a ten-dollar dress pattern 
for Aunt Polly. The neighbors couldn’t make out 
where it came from; but Rev. Miller seemed to chuckle 
over scfme, joke — probably because he got a check 
cashed that evening out of Aaron Morris’ bank 
account. 

’Twas late, and the crowd at the church was about 
ready to be dismissed when a boy came in with — “A 
telegram for you. Dr. Osborne. ” 

The Doctor opened it, arose and read it aloud: 

“ W. S. A. S. : — Accept our heart-felt thanks for the 
Christmas box. 

"Co. F. of Seventh Iowa, 

“per Capt. Warner.” 


6 


CHAPTER VI 


THE FORAGE 

General F — was one of the best young generals of the 
war; but was a thoroughly Eastern man in his ideas 
and ways. Being a somewhat over-strict Presbyterian 
he proved unpopular with the soldiers from the West. 
Great things had been predicted for him by his old 
tutors and classmates of West Point for he had gradu- 
ated with honors at the military school. Soon after he 
had been commissioned in the East, he gathered lau- 
rels of which an old general might have been proud, and 
in consequence, was given the command of a brigade 
in the West. A petition from his new brigade to 
retain their old commander, even if he had made a 
mistake, was not granted; for in *62 one mistake was 
enough to oust a man, even if he was one of the no- 
blest in the service. 

Gen. F — was brave and keen-sighted, and had it 
not been for the prejudice against him, and the unfal- 
tering love for their old commander that filled his new 
regiments, he would have probably held his place with 
credit. 

But his soldiers were as ill-disposed toward him as 
they were toward the reforms he tried to enforce. 
Lincoln is accredited with the remark: 

"You can’t expect all the virtues for thirteen dollars 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


83 


per month;” and ^twas certainly aptly said. If some 
of the boys did grow reckless and rough on the outside, 
there never was an army that had better “gizzards” as 
Pat used to say, than the Union army of the late civil 
war. 

The army had been stationed in Tennessee for six 
weeks, awaiting orders to move. Boys who had been 
out for a year and a half soon became restless, if not 
in active work — they were getting very tired of hard- 
tack and “sow-belly,” but Gen. F — still refused to 
allow any of them to try for some “game,” as Pat 
called anything besides the usual fare. 

Petition after petition was sent to Washington for 
the re-instatement of Gen. T — who was as whole- 
souled and brave a man as ever wore uniform, and 
whose tactics suited his men better than those of the 
“West Pointer.” For instance, when they came to a 
peach-orchard which belonged to an outspoken “old 
reb, ” he, usually, found it convenient to be some place 
else than with the boys near the orchard ; ^and the boys 
always found it convenient to help gather the peaches. 
Of course Gen T — would then receive many a haver- 
sackful of peaches when they went into camp 

Gen. T — had never left “his boys,” but stayed with 
the division. After two long months, he had be- 
gun to think that the merited time of his suspension 
was surely ended, and he notified the authorities that 
he could and would find employment at his old home 
in Iowa if his services were no longer needed by Uncle 
Sam. 

A few days later a message came for Gen. F — to 
come to Washington, D. C., and for Gen. T — to take 


84 


IVH/iT IT COST; OR 


his old command and wait for orders. That night was 
passed in a general jubilee in camp, and early the next 
morning Clay Osborne and John Edwards, with four 
other soldiers, appeared at head-quarters and asked 
permission to use six of the mules that day. 

“Yes, boys, you may take the mules; but say, be 
careful and don’t take any chances,” said Gen. T— . 
"We can’t spare any of you boys for any long time, 
and it’s hard to tell what kind of a gang you may run 
into. ” 

Then he called, as the boys started off: 

“Boys, don’t take any more than you can get away 
with. ” 

“We’ll have a change of diet, though," laughed the 
boys. 

The mules were saddled and away they cantered. 
They had gone but a short distance when another mule 
which had broken loose came galloping after them, 
turning his head first this way, then that, as if looking 
for someone to ride him. He had not long to wait 
for just as he overtook the party they met Pat. 

“Hello, Pat! we’re starting out for a little raid; 
won’t you take that mule and go with us?” said Clay. 

“Faith, an’ I don’t care ef I do,” said Pat. “An’ is 
it game yer afther?” 

“Oh, we’re just taking a little ride for our health,” 
said one of the boys. 

“Be jabbers, an’ I im wid ye!” said Pat. “Pdloike 
a little more health, and not so much dead hog meself; 
just wait till I catch that divilish mule!” 

The mule was caught and without saddle or bridle, 
Pat climbed upon him, guiding him with a halter taken 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


85 


from one of the other mules; and the party galloped 
away. 

They found the country folks had suspected that the 
“Yankee soldiers” liked turkeys, pigs, and geese, and 
none were in sight. They stopped at several farm- 
houses inquiring for butter, cheese, milk, etc., but they 
could find nothing, though they offered to pay liberally 
for anything they could get. Eleven o^ clock found 
them far from camp and still no “game.” Pat was 
growing desperate, for he had missed his rations, when 
they dashed round a clump of trees, and came to a fine 
plantation; a surly looking man stood by an open gate. 
Pat rode up to him in advance, as it was his turn to 
“try the ice.” 

“An’ faith an’ ye hev a foine place, here, sure," try- 
ing his native art of blarney. “An’ would ye be afther 
selling of us something to ate?” 

“Nol” was the gruff answer, as the man turned his 
back upon them; but not in time to prevent Pat’s 
sharp eyes from catching a glimpse of the badge he 
wore, a picture of Jeff. Davis. 

“Och, be dasint now, my friend, an’ what price do 
you put upon the leetle badge you wears?” 

At that moment two young mulattoes appeared from 
behind the clump of trees, each driving a fine, fat team 
of oxen. 

“Begorra! an’ what would ye be afther askin’ a 
Yankee for the badge an’ throw the oxen in to boot?” 

“I have no oxen to sell and would like you to go 
on about your business!” exclaimed the irritated man. 

“Mee bizness is it? An’ faith an’ it’s mee bizness 
now to buy them oxen, an’ef yer hev none to sell I will 


86 


IVH/tT IT COST; OR 


try Sambo. Hallo there, Sambo,” he cried, riding 
toward the mulattoes, his face radiant with an Irish 
man’s relish for fun; “An’ moight yees part with the 
off ox on the near side, eh?” 

“My name aint Sambo — it’s Pete, sah. ” 

“Well, thin, Pete or Sambo, as yer plaze; but what 
moight yer valyet the big bay ox at?” 

“We oxes und we nigs all berlong ter de massadah; 
yer’ 11 heft ter ax him.” 

“Will thin, massa, what do ye’es want fur the ox an 
kape those badge?” asked Pat, turning to the scowling 
planter. 

“I have no oxen to sell, and no time to waste with 
you! Drive on, boys, drive on! ” said the planter im- 
patiently. 

“Hold on! Hold on!” cried Pat, riding up in front 
of the team, “not so fast; we must have something to 
ate or we moost hev an ox!” 

The negroes had started, in obedience to the master’s 
call, and when Pat intercepted them, the planter gave 
the mule a sharp cut with his whip which started the 
mule and Pat up the road at a “break-neck” speed, 
with Pat riding all over the mule and up in the air 
above, looking back all the time and screaming: 
“Blurtv Murther!” “Blurty Murther!” “Blurty Mur- 
ther! ” 

Pat v/as evidently in the greatest hurry, for presently 
the mule stopped and he went on, coming down with 
a “thump,” which made him groan dismally. He was 
not hurt seriously though, and climbing up, started 
back to the boys, who were almost convulsed* with 
laughter. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


87 


“Ye dirty Anglishman ye!” he cried, pulling off his 
coat with a jerk. “Pll break every bone in yer back!” 

The boys opposed the back-breaking but ordered the 
man to go to the house and have dinner prepared for 
them, and all followed — John Edwards only being left 
with the mules and darkeys — to the stately residence 
on the hill, Pat leading the party and vowing that he’d 
“ate ivery thing on that place, to pay fur the way he 
had been trated. ” A good square dinner was served 
and Pat nearly kept his vow. The house was elegantly 
furnished; and in one corner of the parlor, upon a 
handsome easel, stood a large portrait of Jefferson 
Davis, standing erect, with his foot upon a man with 
his face down and the name “Lincoln” across the pros- 
trate form, while above the picture were draped the 
stars and bars. The boys had suffered many very sar- 
castic remarks from the family without resenting them, 
all save Pat, who would occasionally give a telling hit 
in reply; but, as they passed out they saw this picture 
and flag through the open door which had, evidently, 
l^een pushed ajar, that they should see. 

Instantly, Clay Osborne seized a chair and broke the 
picture into fragments, and tearing the flag from its 
place, ordered the planter, to burn it before their eyes, 
and vowed if he hesitated he’d fire 'the house with it 
himself. 

The flag was burned by the planter. Then the boys 
went back to John and their mules, taking a dinner 
with them for the waiting comrade. 

“Boys, Pm in favor of taking the oxen and letting 
the boys here go, too,” said John, as they drew near. 

‘ This man is a brute to his slaves, of which he has 


88 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


sixty or more, and the marks on the boys prove the 
truth of their words. ” 

‘‘Drive on, if you want to go, boys,’ said Clay. 
The negroes were eager to go, so lashed their oxen 
and started down the road at a good gait, well know- 
ing the penalty if overtaken. They had gone but 
about a mile when, upon looking back, they saw horse- 
men about the plantation they had just left, some 
twenty-five or thirty of them, whom they knew were 
one of the gangs of rebels who were making it a point 
to capture, whenever chance favored them, any of the 
Union soldiers straying away from the main army. 

“What shall we do, boys? we can’t get any distance 
on these mules before they overtake us,’’ said John 
Edwards; then taking a hasty survey of the country: 
“What’s that large house across the field?’’ 

‘Dat’s a ’backer house,’’ replied Pete, to whom the 
question had been addressed. “Nigh chucked with 
’backer, and it’s good, too. Does yer smoke?’’ 

By the time he finished, the fence was torn down 
and all went galloping for the tall house, which stood 
half a mile from the road and was surrounded by open 
fields on three sides. 

There was no time wasted; but Pat’s mule got in an 
uncontrollable hurry and when the others came up, 
Pat had his mule tied and was hunting a good place to 
keep his body out of the way of lead. ’Twas a large 
two story log-house, containing several hogsheads of 
tobacco, ready for shipping, and well filled with more 
tobacco hung for drying. They had tied one team of 
oxen in a sheltered place and taken the mules into the 
house when the scouting party surrounded them; the 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


first firing killed poor Jo, who had run out to get the 
other team that was startings off. Pete wrung his 
hands and wept bitterly. "Dat am de only Plation 
Ise dot in dis worle, he replied piteously. 

But the boys had no time to comfort him, then, for 
they had to do some quick work to keep the gang from 
getting close enough to fire the house; the bullets 
came crashing into the logs or against the hogsheads of 
tobacco the boys had rolled together for a barricade. 

The rebels were not protected, and in consequence 
several horses had gone off without their riders after 
the first firing. After a third discharge, the besiegers 
withdrew for consultation. 

Pat took advantage of the armistice to seek a surer 
place of safety, for he didn^t think the sound of bullets 
rattling so close very musical. The other boys used 
the time in reloading their muskets and the revolvers 
they had borrowed from their comrades that morning, 
and placed everything in the best possible position for 
defense. They kept a sharp lookout all the while to 
note every movement of the enemy^s council. The 
party had soon divided; some twenty of them rode 
out of sight, while the remaining sixteen rode in single 
file in front of the house, just out of gun-shot. Pat- 
rick had found a refuge in the second story and urged 
all the boys to come up there. They in turn insisted 
’twas safer below and tried to persuade him to come 
down and help defend the fort; but Pat’s conscience 
wouldn’t allow him to jeopardize his life. 

Not an ominous sound was heard for over an hour, 
when suddenly a loud report rang out from the strip of 
timber behind the house, and it was echoed by the 


90 


IVHAT IT COST: OR 


wildest and most piteous yells from the hidden Pat. 
“Och, Pm kilt, I’m kilt! I’ll niver see me Kate or 
me leetle Pathrick any more!" 

The bullets kept coming and Pat kept screaming; 
but the boys didn’t dare to venture upstairs, for the 
bullets whizzed through the cracks. After a short 
consultation they decided to fire no random shots, but 
each keep on the alert for sharp-shooters from the 
clump of wood and for any hostile movement from the 
lines in front of the house. 

Finally, those in the front field, hearing the screams 
and not seeing any shots returned, made a charge; but 
the boys gave them such a malignant fire that five of 
them never went back, and those who did went to the 
order of, "double quick.” Pat continued calling for 
"Katie” and "Pathrick,” “whom he would niver sea ag’in 
in ter -world! ” The firing from the woods had almost 
ceased; but, at regular intervals, a shot would still 
come, hitting the log just above their heads. John 
Edwards was on the side of the house next the woods, 
and peering furtively around, suddenly called, “Here, 
boys, one of you give me something to stand on; just 
to raise me up a little.” A bunch of tobacco was 
pushed over for him. “Now, now stop, for here comes 
another bullet.” Ere the word was heard a bullet 
struck the log just over his head, and glancing upward 
among the dry tobacco leaves, vented its destructive 
force on the inanimate. It was the last shot for that 
poor reb, for the next moment John put his lev^ket 
through a crack; it flashed and another soul was in 
Eternity. 

"Where was he?” asked Clay. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


91 


"In that tall tree yonder, almost concealed by the 
leaves. ” 

‘‘Did you kill him?" asked one of the others. 

‘‘He got down awful quick," replied John, walking 
away to examine something on the other side of the 
house, avoiding even a glance toward the timber 
again. 

The firing had ceased at six o’clock. Clay went up- 
stairs expecting to see a ghastly sight; sure enough, 
there lay Pat rolling, struggling and trying to die; but 
he couldn’t quite make his robust frame succumb, 
even if his will had, to fear. Clay gently raised him up, 
wiped the blood from his face, and each time he re- 
moved it from a different place, expecting to find the 
cruel work of the bullet. 

"It’s roight in me forehead, to be sure! Roight in 
me forehead! Clay, tell ’em I died a braf man, as I 
am to be sure. " The boys had all gathered round Pat 
by this time and the besiegers were almost forgotten. 

Poor Pete stood looking on while the tears poured 
down his dusky cheeks. 

"Why, you coward!" exclaimed Clay. "You aren’t 
hurt a particle, only a little piece cut out of your ear!" 

They all laughed at Pat’s expense, all but poor Pete, 
who was thinking of his brother who had died without 
a word. It was no little matter to convince Pat that 
all the blood he had lost, or thought he had lost, came 
from a wound measuring half the diameter of a bullet, 
in the rim of his ear. All night they watched lest the 
enemy should drive them from their shelter. But 
only one shot was fired the whole night long — Pat kill- 
ing a horse that had lost its rider — for Pat had come 


92 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


down from his hiding-place, and was anxious to re- 
deem his reputation as a soldier worthy of the colors 
he wore. 

At noon the following day, Will Morris, with a party 
of fifty Union soldiers, came up the road searching for 
the missing boys; they had a little skirmish with the 
besieging party, which ended in their taking thirty 
prisoners and relieving the tired, hungry, grateful boys 
in blue. Among the prisoners, was Joseph Billups, 
the bluff old planter the boys had dined with on the 
previous day. 

Pete might have called him a near relation, for Bill- 
ups was his ftither; but Pete added, as he informed the 
boys of the fact: 

"Of course, I nebber calls him ladder, fur Pse dunt 
likes him some of course, do I alius treats him perlite 
an’ nebber tole folks he wus eny kin of mine case he’s 
white folks." 

"Begorra! an’ is it ashamed yees are of him or his 
skin? Faith an’ I think a white man’s joost as good 
as a nigger, ef he behaves hisself as well to be 
shure!" and Pat chuckled as the boys laughed at the 
questionable comparison. 

They got back to camp that afternoon with the pris- 
oners and both teams of oxen. Gen. T — was the first 
man to meet them and he shook hands with each of 
them, saying: 

"I should never have forgiven myself, boys, for allow- 
ing you to go if any of you had been killed. Thank 
the Ruler of the Universe, you are all back safe, with 
no greater loss than a bit of Pat’s ear; but he could 
have spared it much better from his lip." 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


93 


They had a grand old barbecue that night in camp 
and lots of fun, all agreeing that the trip the boys had 
made had paid by ending so well. Many a mirthful 
remark and telling hit were made about Pat’s ear; 
but they laughed loudest when it came out that his 
pride was wounded still deeper; for late in the even- 
ing he demanded that Clay should take back what he 
had said the day before — that he was a "coward.” 


CHAPTER VII 


THE COMMITTEE ON WAYS AND MEANS 

While the boys were braving the hardships of war-- 
unsheltered, unfed, many times; facing the deafening 
roar of cannon or daring the bullets of the hidden 
enemy, on march or in skirmish- — their families, too, 
were feeling the evil of war in all its intensity. 

Goods were high — money scarce. Women and ba- 
bies left to stand the brunt of life alone, with all the 
odds against them. 

How eagerly, and yet with what forebodings of evil, 
was each paper scanned to catch every stray item of 
army news! And oh, when the news of battle came, 
with what pale faces and trembling hands were the 
long lists of “killed,” “wounded,” "taken prisoner” 
and “missing,” read, dreading lest the name they held 
dearest should be among them! 

Of the twenty-seven men who enlisted from Maple- 
ton, the names of three had been dropped from the 
army roll ; but not because they had come home; they 
would never come home! They had “gone home.” 

One was reported “missing” after the battle of Ft. 
Donelson; two were killed at Shiloh. 

The inmates of Elm Cottage were having a hard 
time of it, as did thousands of lone women o’er the 
land. Floy couldn’t keep from casting contemptuous 
glances at the corn-cakes which were placed every 

94 


DEBTOR. AND CREDITOR 


95 


morning on the breakfast-table, and, though usually 
she tried hard to appear contented, like Grace and 
Aunt Polly, sometimes her human nature vented itself 
in fretting, yes, and scolding, o’er the condition of 
affairs. 

During the spring and summer of ’62, "the boys” 
had been in active service, which meant "constant dan- 
ger, ” the home-folks knew ; as yet no personal harm 
had come to them, but the dread of what news might 
next come was almost unbearable. Aunt Polly, thor- 
oughly believing that work was the panacea for all 
evils, delved into it, and, by gardening, choring and 
tending chickens by day, and knitting by night, 
they managed to "keep up." Gentle Grace kept a 
brave front, but many times both faces showed in the 
morning what their hearts had felt during the night. 

Aunt Polly felt keenly the sting of being parted from 
the husband with whom she had lived happily for 
twenty-six years and whose strong principles she ad- 
mired, save that one of sympathizing with the South 
and believing that slavery was all right. 

It was only a difference of opinion; but just now 
’twas a difference of opinion that was shaking the Union* 
from center to circumference, so vehemently as to 
threaten its destruction. That same difference of opin- 
ion had broken up the Morris house and family. 

Baby Gwen was to them a solid comfort; the care 
of her gave them something to do, and, as Aunt Polly 
often declared, they would have "broke down com- 
plete if she had not made us sometimes laugh with her 
frolics." Aunt Polly loved to sit by her cradle while 
she slept; or let her "ride a trot boss on ‘danma’s 


96 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


foot” when she was awake. Floy had a romp with her 
each evening after school ; but to Grace she was every- 
thing. 

Grace’s music-class had brought them some mone}^ 
She had taught at her home all this summer again, 
Floy amusing Gwen during lessons — Floy did it well, 
too; it was her whole-souled way; playing bear, 
crowing like a rooster, carrying “Baby bye-bye," mak- 
ing funny faces or singing lullabys as the case de- 
manded — but as winter came on, threatening such 
scarcity of food and surplus of snow and cold, music 
lessons were given up as luxuries not to be thought of 
in hard times and the cottagers’ supplies grew scant. 

The Women’s Soldiers’ Aid Society prospered, in 
spite of privations, meeting each week at the hall and 
turning out army-socks, shirts, towels, bandages etc., 
which proved it was not merely a "gossiping club.” 
They talked as they worked, of course. Some found 
fault with other members and with those who were 
not members; but though some pretty serious differ- 
ences arose, one great sympathetic interest bound them 
heart and hand to their work — a desire to help their 
dear ones in a common danger. 

War news was exchanged freely; and when the mes- 
sage came that one had fallen, then hot, sympathetic 
tears mingled with those of the bereaved ones, and 
helping hands were ready to take part of the burden. 

Aunt Polly never found the weather too cold or her 
rheumatism too bad to be at the hall, and could "scrape 
up” many bundles of linen and yarn to be worked over 
for army use even if they did have to stint and save to 
make both ends meet, at the cottage. 


DEBTOR AhID CREDITOR 


97 


One bleak November night, the three sat in the 
kitchen (they didn^t try to keep up more than one fire) 
holding a consultation; having formed themselves into 
a “Ways and Means committee.” 

“Something has got to be done, and that right away!” 
said Grace; “this family is just bankrupt.” 

“Yes; the flour is clear gone,” said Aunt Polly. 
“We all need every-day clothes, and Baby Gwen must 
have a coat and some shoes. ” And she gave the cradle 
a rock with her foot while her needle flew in and out 
of the army-shirt, the like of which she had made a 
number this winter. 

' There’s one thing consoling about it, and that is 
that everybody else is pushed for clothes and even eat- 
ables, ” said Floy. “Lois Miller has worn but two 
calico dresses at school this whole term, and she’s in 
the graduating class too. Nearly every boy in school 
has patches somewhere on his clothes. 1 don’t care a 
fig if I have but one faded merino, and two linse 3 ^s! 
But I must have shoes! Pa will get them though as 
soon as he sees these holes,” sticking up the torn 
shoes through which some of Aunt Polly’s neat darn- 
ing was plainly seen. 

“Pretty hard looking for a young lady most old 
enough to have beaux, with her hair done up high and 
her dresses long!” said Grace, laughing at the little 
toss Floy’s head gave at the mention of beaux. 

“That don’t make me old enough to have beaux,” 
said Floy; “unless you mean scarlet ribbon-bows — 
I’d like some of them; but boys — bah! I wouldn’t be 
bothered with one for anything. I’ll never put up 
with that nuisance! But say, what do you think! 


7 


98 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Prof. Baker, the dignified, learned professor, went 
home with Lois last night from the teachers’ meeting! 
He has been uncommonly gracious to her all the term, 
but I thought she’d have grit enough to hold him in 
his place. My! won’t old Miss Ruby be vexed? She 
has been bowing her false curls at him all through the 
fall. Poor Ruby! She’ll bang those urchins around, 
down in the Second Primary, to pay for that.” 

"I hope Lois won’t forget her soldier-boy,” said 
Grace. 

“You can’t tell about gals now-a-days,” put in Aunt 
Polly, "she may think it’s smarter to have that stuck-up 
city-chap with lamin’.” 

"Hope she won’t give John the cold shoulder,” said 
Grace. "Will writes that John Edwards is proving him- 
self pure gold — that he’s a whole-souled genuine fellow, 
and in the most dangerous places never flinches, even 
if he is quiet and sedate. But the house is out of 
order — the original question was; ‘W’hat shall we do 
to replenish the larder?’” 

"And keep the old wolf from the door?" added Floy. 

"I have a plan,” began Grace, looking anxiously at 
Baby Gwen, sleeping in her cradle by "Danma’s tair. ” 

"And so have I,” interrupted Floy, "and I mean to 
try it in the morning! It’s to clerk in Barton’s store, 
if they’ll have me!” 

"Pshaw, child! you couldn’t do it!” hastily said 
Aunt Polly, "and then they won’t need you, fur I 
reckon old Mr. Barton ’ 11 stay in the store hisself 
now. Times is too hard to pay fur clarkin’. He’d a 
kept his niece if he wanted anybody!" 

"No,” said Floy; "she’s going to get married. 


DEBTOR yiND CREDITOR 


90 


Don^t you object now, ma; for you would not let pa 
help us, only just in getting my clothes, even if he 
would! I think Mr. Barton will take me, cheap of 
course, at first, and raise my wages as I deserve it. 
If I can^t do that, Pll work in the factory at Belmont." 

"Never!” exclaimed Aunt Polly. "Never, while I 
have hands to take in washin’ ! " 

"Oh now, mother mine! Don’t mention that,” said 
Floy teasingly. "Kate McGuire must have all that 
trade to ‘kape thim leetle fellers!’ We’ll have no 
opposition to Katie started now. By the way, those 
‘leetle fellers’ haven’t been in school this week. I 
suspect it’s because they haven’t any shoes; their 
clothes are awfully ragged, too. I wish we were rich 
now; what piles of comfort we could scatter through 
this neighborhood!” 

"We must look after the little McGuires anyway,” 
said Grace. "While Pat is in the army, they must 
not be allowed to suffer.” 

"I dare say they go to bed hungry many a night. It 
takes a heap to fill six hungry stomachs like theirs,” 
said Aunt Polly, wiping her spectacles on her apron. 
"Let’s send them some potatoes and squashes, we can 
spare ’em.” 

"And we’ll let Kate have some of Will’s old clothes 
for the boys, too ; you know we laid away quite a lot 
for our next carpet,” said Grace. "This carpet can 
last that much longer. But you haven’t heard my plan 
for tiding over our pecuniary embarrassment. Floy 
must not leave school; no, she can teach soon,” she 
added, in reply to Floy’s determined look. ”1 have a 
better plan, I think. Miss Leland, teacher of the 


100 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


grammar department, is very unpopular, and it’s ru- 
mored that she will resign, at the close of this term, 
next week. Indeed, father told me to-day — incident- 
ally, but it gave me an idea — that, if she didn’t resign, 
the school-board would ask her to, for her department 
in the school has run wild and is doing no good work. 
I think I can get the place, and I know I can hold it. 
Baby Gwen will stay quite contentedly with grandma, 
as soon as she gets used to it, and be a comfort to her, 
too, while Floy and I are at school. Now, don’t say 
no, mother, for really I think it a good plan," contin- 
ued Grace, as Aunt Polly began to speak. 

"Blit, Grace, you are not strong enough to stand the 
task; you’d break down yourself, a-going out in all 
sorts of weather, wading through snow-drifts to your 
eyes, and then keeping those unruly boys all day, be- 
sides being away from Baby Gwen. You’d be sure to 
break down! It won’t do; it won’t do!" and Aunt 
Polly shook her head decidedly. 

"No, Grace, I’m the man of the house since Will’s 
gone! Didn’t I tell him that I would be? and that 
I’d take care of you?" said Floy, ‘d’m the one to go 
forth and seek our fortune. I just wish I could teach. 
I don’t suppose they’d trust a girl not quite fifteen to 
boss those bad boys; but I’d just like to try it a 
while. ” 

"You’d play with them, I have an idea," said Grace. 
"But I can teach, I feel sure, and the days wouldn’t be 
very long, with Baby Gwen to give me rest in the even- 
ings.” 

"But I want to do something; I’d feel sneaking to 
allow you to feed and clothe us all," said Floy spirit 
edly. "Fve thought lots about it and — " 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


101 


"When Will comes home he must find us all to- 
gether and Floy in school, ” said Grace. “Let me have 
my way now; it really is the best, in fact the only 
way, that will do at all. I’ll see father to-morrow and 
apply through him. ’’ 

On the way down, next day, she stopped at Pat 
McGuire’s humble dwelling, found the "leetle fel- 
lers" scattered promiscuously around — Mike washing; 
"Jeems" busily engaged pulling old Tabby’s tail to 
hear her mew; some others turning somersaults on the 
bed and poor Kate crying over little Patrick. 

“Faith, and it was roight kint of yees to cum,” she 
said, wiping a chair with her apron and offering it to 
her visitor; “leetle Patherick hain’t well at all, at all; 
and I can’t get much wurruck either. Ivery body is a 
thrying to do their own washin’, an’ how kin I ever 
kape my leetle fellers worrum this cold weather, and 
git ’em enough to ate?" and she broke down entirely. 
It was a dreary outlook, and Grace pitied her deeply. 

“I don’t wonder that you get discouraged some- 
times," she said comfortingly; “you try so hard!" 

She took little Patrick and examined the swollen 
gums, while she measured Mike and Jeems with her eye. 
“Come up to the cottage soon, Katie; Will has quite 
a number of old clothes, which are worn out in places, 
but quite good in the main, out of which we can make 
some pantaloons and coats for the boys; and we’ll find 
something for little Patrick, too.” 

“An’ ye'es a born seraph, sure, mum. Bless yer kint 
heart!" cried Kate, her face clearing like an April day. 

An’ it’s meself will cum. I’ll do anything to kape 
em’ all roight!" 


102 


IT COST; OR 


Soon Grace went on, wondering how they could be 
furnished with shoes, leaving a gleam of sunshine in 
the McGuire home. Mrs. Osborne objected to the 
teaching strongly at first, but was won over by the 
doctor, who thought ’twould be an excellent remedy 
for the “blues,” and would occupy the time well until 
the boys should come home. 

In a week, Grace Morris was a schoolma’am. She 
whipped three boys the first day, though she had 
always opposed corporal punishment in school. She 
had said many times that if she was teaching, she’d 
govern by kindness “ruling with an iron hand, perhaps, 
but covered with a velvet glove.” Though she pulled 
the glove off the first day, she soon brought order out 
of chaos arid won the respect and love of the whole 
school. 

Monday morning of the second week, a new scholar 
entered. It was Mike McGuire, with a beaming face, 
good clothes and a brand-new pair of shoes. 

“Faith an’ I found me shoes a hangin’ on the door- 
knob this very morning, with me name on the bottom, 
an its’ a noice pair they are, too!” was Mike’s answer 
to the ’question about where he got them. 

Grace wondered who the good fairy could be, and 
would have known could she have seen the old doc- 
tor’s satisfied chuckle, as, driving by, he saw Mike 
running to school that morning, the new shoes lifted 
high then brought down with triumphant clatter. 
Mike was a bright Irish lad, and Grace helped him all 
the more when she remembered that his father was a 
Union soldier in the same company as her own dear 
Will. Baby Gwen queened it right royally at the cot- 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


103 


tage, and, on pleasant days, drove with her grandpa 
down to see her "ozzer danma. ” She always returned 
home, loaded with toys and candy, in time to meet 
Grace and Floy as they came from school ; every even- 
ing, she toddled toward them, her little arms extended, 
and a glad — “my mamma and my Foy!” 

Then such a treat as she proved to be, through all 
out-of-school hours, and her, “No, no, my mamma go to 
ko«l,” as Grace began wrapping for her next going, 
would be echoed all day! 


CHAPTER VIII 


PICKET DUTY 

It was a dark night, late in November of ’62, ^nd 
Will Morris took his beat on picket duty at 2, a . m. 

He was on the lookout for spies, for Gen. T — with 
about ten thousand men was not more than three miles 
from Van Dorn’s camp. That Confederate general 
having left the main army with Price, was hovering 
about Grant’s rear, and Gen. T — had been sent back 
to watch him. Neither army knew the strength of the 
other, though there had been several skirmishes; and 
each was waiting for the other to make the attack. 

During the first half hour of young Morris’ vigil, no 
sound was heard to break the stillness, save that of the 
wind as it rocked the huge trees on the hill-side. 
Presently the sharp crack of a revolver was heard, fur- 
ther down the ridge, and ere it’s echo died another 
report resounded, on the other side of him. Expecting 
some excitement at least, Will examined his own re- 
volver and drew his musket in position to use if neces- 
sary. 

“Why that’s Van Dorn’s whole army if it’s any of 
them," he said half aloud, stopping on his beat to 
listen to the crashing sound from the hill-top. “The 
moon is just coming up; they’ll have the advantage of 
me in being on the west. But I’ll have one in being 

104 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


105 


on low ground while they are on high, so I won’t sig- 
nal for help just yet.” 

But a familiar sound told him ’twas but hogs on the 
hill eating nuts. They came on, and suddenly one of 
them gave a big "boo-oo, ” as if something was the 
matter; nearer still they came and Will could see the 
dark forms as they hunted around for nuts. ‘‘Boo-ool ” 
went the old sow once more, and this time they all 
gathered into a bunch, grunting in a frightened way 
and making the noise Will had often heard them make 
when, at his father’s farm, one had been hurt or made 
to squeal. Again they separated and were soon hunt- 
ing and rooting in the dry leaves, but a few steps from 
where Will stood leaning against a tree. He watched 
them so quietly that many had passed him, on either 
side of the tree, without noticing him. Now as they 
came on he saw two, lagging behind and somewhat 
apart from the rest; he also noticed that they didn’t 
root and rattle the leaves in the usual swine manner. 

Then down the line another musket- shot was heard 
and both the hind hogs stopped, while the others came 
unconcernedly on. 

"Well, swine,” thought Will, "you must root hog 
or die, when you get a few paces nearer.” 

He raised his musket to his face, keeping close to 
the tree, so that they should not see him move, and 
watching, pulled almost hard enough to do the work; 
then hesitated. 

Was it Prgvidence that prompted the hesitation? 

"It would be cowardly to shoot a man in cold blood,” 
he thought. "Yet there’s two of them and I am taking 
a risk,” and he stood a full minute scarcely breathing. 


106 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


It then occurred to him to speak, and at the same 
time to step to one side of the tree, sheltering himself 
from the one and covering the other with his musket; 
for he stood between them and but a few feet from 
either. 

"Hold up your hands, or you’re a dead hog!" he 
cried. At once the hog addressed was transformed 
into a biped, with its hands uplifted; for the musket 
almost against him added an argument of irresistible 
force. 

"Now,” said Will to the one on the other side, 
"don’t you move a muscle or your pard is shot in- 
stantly. Now hold those hands a little higher and 
step this way.” 

The man obeyed, and though it took all his mathe- 
matical powers to do it. Will adjusted the critical 
state of affairs by making the man walk up to him. 
Then taking his arms away from him with one hand 
while he held a cocked revolver in the other, he 
marched him out from the shelter and stepped behind 
him. 

"For God’s sake don’t shoot!" said Mr. Swine No. i 
to Mr. Swine No. 2, as Will marched him toward the 
unarmed one. But the appeal was unnecessary; for 
No. 2 had his hands up. 

Soon Will Morris was standing a few feet from the 
unarmed men telling them not to tremble so; for they 
would not be harmed if they obeyed orders. Then he 
fired a signal for help. 

Now boys,” said Will, "while help is coming, you 
may just give me your biographies." 

They hesitated but a moment, for the whole thing 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


107 


had been done so quickly that they scarcely realized 
what they were doing. 

"My name is James Murphy. I am from Missis- 
sippi," said the one who last surrendered. 

"How long have you been out?” asked Will. 

"I just enlisted a few days ago.” 

"Have you a family?” 

”No, sir.” 

"Well, my friend," he said, turning to the other, 
"you came very near death’s door; but since 1 didn’t 
pull the trigger you may give me a short account of 
why you are here. 

"I am here to defend my property,” was the prompt 
reply. 

"What property?" asked Will. 

"My niggers, sir.” 

"Pray where did you get your ‘niggers’ and what 
right have you to them?” 

"Well, sir, a part of them I bought at a public auc- 
tion just before the election of Lincoln, and paid more 
for them than any one else would pay. That’s where 
I got them — what right have I to them? I have a bill 
of sale for them all clear but four hundred dollars 
mortgage on two of them. But any day 1 could have 
sold one of them for that amount and two hundred 
dollars more. The rest were given to me, or rather, to 
my wife, by her father." 

"Then you are here for the sole purpose of defend- 
ing those slaves, are you?” asked Will. 

"That is, of course, the principal reason for which I 
espouse the cause of the young Confederacy. But be- 
sides that traffic, all our rights are trampled upon 


108 


IVH.^T IT COST; OR 


by the North, whose interests conflict with ours.” 

‘‘Don’t you have the same constitution to defend 
you that we have? Haven’t you always had equal 
rights in both houses of Congress, and more too, by 
counting part of what you term your property in mak- 
ing up your representation? Virginia has had more 
presidents than any other state of the Union. You 
have always had your share and more too; that’s what 
is the matter with you now. But who are you?” 

‘‘My name is Morris — Hiram Morris.” 

‘‘Morris — Hiram Morris!" repeated Will, aghast. 
"Great Heavens! Are you a son of Aaron Morris, of 
Iowa?” 

"I am a son of Aaron Morris, of Mapleton, Iowa. 
He moved there sixteen years ago from Virginia,” re- 
plied the man surprised at the agitation of his captor. 

"I, also, am a son of Aaron Morris of Mapleton, 
Iowa, and a brother of the man at whom a few minutes 
ago I was pointing the weapon of death!” A silence 
fell for a moment, that painful silence that can almost 
be felt. "What can I do? I hate to give my own 
brother up to be a prisoner of war!" 

At this, both brothers broke down; and the Gray and 
the Blue — over whom, when little boys, Polly Morris 
had watched during sickness; they who had chased 
rabbits together in the long ago; now bearded men 
fighting for different principles, held each other’s hands 
and wept as memory crossed the* chasm of years and 
different surroundings and made them the youth and 
child again in the old Virginia home. 

Will was the first to speak. 

"My brother,” said he, "you are on the wrong side. 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


109 


For the sake of your brother, your sister and the 
mother who cared for you until your manhood, go 
home; for the sake of heaven where there are no slaves, 
for the sake of your wife and your own children whose 
freedom and happiness you prize above everything else, 
release your slaves and earn your bread by the sweat of 
your brow; and don’t make someone else earn it for 
you! Will you go home? I will parole you and you 
may go. Will you accept? Say yes, say yes! Don’t 
compel me to take you in as a prisoner!” 

“Well, parole me, and I will go home! " said 
Hiram, and again they' clasped hands. 

Will had never seen anyone paroled and didn’t know 
the exact oath, but knew the substance and ventured 
in good faith. 

"Remove your hat, ” he said, in pale solemnity; "hold 
up your right hand.” 

The other silently obeyed, only the pallor which 
overspread his bronzed face betrayed his emotion. 

"Do you hold up that hand, in the sight of God and 
man, as a sign that you will never again bear arms 
against the Union or give aid in any way to the so- 
called Confederacy, so help you God^” 

"I do! ” answered Hiram Morris, in low but firm tones. 
The oath was administered — that strange oath, wit- 
nessed only by the other prisoner and Him who know- 
eth heart-vows and in Whose name it was uttered. A 
strange picture they made, these brothers, in the dense 
forest, the cold moon lighting the scene — the one, 
young, almost boyish-looking, swearing the man past 
middle-age, tall and commanding — "never again to take 
up arms ’gainst the Union.” The oath was just given 


110 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


and Hiram had not had time to leave the spot, when 
up dashed Lieut. Wiley with ten men. 

"Sentry, wasn’t it you who signaled for help?" 
asked the Lieutenant. 

> ‘Yes sir; I needed help and still have a man here 
who is, I suppose, a prisoner of war," replied Will. 

"Why, did these two men come up and surrender?" 
asked Lieut. Wiley in a half sarcastic tone. 

"No sir, not exactly; but — ” 

Lieut. Wiley here stopped his story by saying: 

"No time for explanations now. Men, conduct those 
prisoners to head-quarters with the word that Lieut. 
Wiley sent them.” 

Lieut. Wiley was secretly chagrined that Will Morris 
displayed such valor, for he was already jealous of his 
growing popularity among the soldiers and feared he 
(Morris) might be recommended as Captain when Capt. 
Warner should be promoted — which promotion was ex- 
pected soon. Now Lieut. Wiley had some aspiration 
for that position and showed no favor to private Mor- 
ris, whom he knew stood higher in the estimation of 
the company than his commissioned self. 

"Hold on, lieutenant," said Will, "the one man is 
paroled and has the right to go home." 

"Who paroled him?" demanded the Lieutenant. 
"And by what authority?" 

"I paroled him, sir," said Will undauntedly, "and 
while I may have taken a liberty that needs explana- 
tion I think I can make it satisfactory to the General." 

"You will make it satisfactory to me," roared the in- 
dignant lieutenant, "or be sent in with the prisoners 
under arrest!" 


DEBTOR ARID CREDITOR 


111 


"Mr. Wiley,’’ began Will. 

"Call me lieutenant, impudence!” 

"I shall call you nothing but overbearing, head- 
strong Wiley, and shall make no explanations whatever 
to you.” And Will turned coolly away. 

"Sir! Lieutenant Wiley arrests you for disobedience 
and insubordination! Men, conduct him to head-quar- 
ters. ” 

"Gentlemen, I’m a soldier. I try to be a good one, 
a d I ask you not to disturb me, as I am on duty now, ” 
was Will’s appeal to the men themselves. 

Not a man stirred, though the lieutenant ordered 
them a second time; but he didn’t dare send them all 
in for disobedience. 

"I shall report you myself then, at once! ” he said 
enraged. "Men, conduct the prisoners to headquarters.” 
And the party went back with the two prisoners — 
Lieutenant Wiley galloping ahead, somewhat irritated, 
but on the whole pleased that the scene had occurred. 
He thought this field-parole and this act of insubordi- 
nation would destroy the last vestige of a chance for 
Morris to rise. 

Before leaving the main army, they had received the 
following order from Grant: ‘No paroling unless it 

be imperative, until further orders.” The lieutenant 
thought it could not be an imperative case, since both 
men had evidently laid down their arms; besides the 
private had been insubordinate, even impudent. 

At head-quarters, he made good use of the pronoun 
'T” in reporting the capture of the prisoners, but did 
his best to give Wm. Morris the credit of the parole. 

“One of our men, Private Morris, on picket at No. 


112 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


lo, paroled this man; but I got out there with my men 
just in time to prevent his escape. Morris had disre- 
garded Gen. Grant’s orders and paroled him; it was 
unnecessary; for the men made no resistance; still he 
refused to obey my orders in a very impudent manner. ” 

“What were your orders, Lieut. Wiley, which he dis- 
obeyed?” asked Gen. T — quietly. 

“My order was for him to report to you, at once, 
and give satisfactory explanation for disregarding Gen. 
Grant’s order." Though some of the men looked sur 
prised at this version of the . incident, he went on : 
“Will you send for him at once and teach him to know 
his place and keep it, too!” 

“We must not be too rigid, Lieut. Wiley,” observed 
Gen. T — , deliberately weighing the facts as reported. 
“There is not a truer, nobler soldier in the ranks than 
Wm. Morris; and I understand he enlisted against his 
father’s will and has had much subsequent trouble 
over it.” 

“I knew it, I knew it! ” exclaimed the older prisoner. 

They all noticed what he said, but paid no further 
attention to it. 

“I think,” continued Gen, T — , “that Morris can 
probably give good reasons for disobeying Gen. Grant’s 
orders, if he has really done so. We will not disturb 
him now; he will soon be relieved from duty and will 
then report. ” 

Lieut. Wiley looked displeased. The sun waS just 
peeping over the hills and, while they were yet talking, 
Wm. Morris came in from duty. 

“Gen. T — , may I have a word with you in private,” 
asked Will. And in the clear, frank eye which met 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


113 


his Gen. T — saw nothing unmanly or deceptive. 

They drew apart, and after a short interview, Gen. 
T — returned, clearing his throat vehemently. 

“Sir,” he said addressing the gray-coated Morris, 
“you have been paroled and are to go home, laying 
down your arms. Go; may you be forgiven, for your 
brother’s sake!” 

Hiram Morris cast one grateful glance toward the 
manly form at the back of the tent, which had not 
dared to join again the group, turned and left the camp. 

Lieut. Wiley rode slowly away, only saying to one 
of the soldiers: 

“We’ll see if Gen. Grant approves disobedience from 
Morris, or Gen. T — either.” 

Will was joined by some comrades from Co. F, 
when a messenger came dashing up toward Gen. T — ; 
they heard him say: 

“The rebs are upon us! Posts No. 9 and No. ii 
both found dead and the rebs are now at the top of 
yonder hill ! ” 

There was some quick work and brave fighting in 
the next two hours, and Gen. Van Dorn was driven 
back. 

Co. F, with Capt. Warner at its head, had done 
good service, and Gen. T — wrote down in his day- 
book: “Capt. Warner of Co. F, Seventh Iowa, will be 
promoted soon. Wm. Morris of Co. F, private, took 
two prisoners at picket post No. 10. Nos. g and ii 
were both found dead on duty. I therefore recommend 
that Wm. Morris be made Captain of Co. F, on ac- 
count of the valuable services he has rendered here 
and elsewhere. General T — . ” 

8 


114 


IVH^T IT COST; OR 


A week later, when Gen. T — again joined Gen. 
Grant’s army, Lieut. Wiley lost no time in seeking an 
interview with the chief commander. In strong terms, 
he reported the parole and the insubordinate conduct of 
Private Wm. Morris of Co. F, and told that Gen. T — 
did not even reprove the disobedience of the parole 
order, but sanctioned it. 

Then he added, for his own direct benefit: 

“Of course, it is understood that Capt. Warner is to 
be promoted; and I think that justice demands that I 
should be appointed to his place. Can I know some- 
thing definite about it?” 

While he was yet talking, a messenger from Gen. 
T — brought a letter, and also a note, which proved to 
be a leaf from Gen. T — ’s memorandum book. Gen. 
Grant looked it over in silence, then said: 

“Lieut. Wiley, you and Gen. T — don’t seem to 
place the same estimate upon Private Morris’ worth. 
When Capt. Warner is promoted, you will know about 
his successor. " 

Will Morris received orders to appear at Gen. Grant’s 
head-quarters at 2 p. m. that same day. He reported in 
due time and was met with a stern, business-like 
glance, that seemed to read his very thoughts. 

“Wm. Morris, order No. 5 to Gen. T — ’s army as 
they left camp was: ‘No paroling, unless imperative, 
until further orders. ’ Did you understand that order? ” 

“I did, sir,” replied Will. 

“Did you parole a man, after taking him prisoner, at 
No. 10, on the morning of Nov. 23d?” Very deliber- 
ately the General spoke, scanning the face before him. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


115 


“I did, sir," said Will, unfaltering still, though he 
knew not what the sentence might be. 

"Give your reasons for disobeying orders, sir.” 

"Well, General Grant, I will be as brief as possible 
but must ask a little of your time. I was born in Vir- 
ginia and lived there until I was eight years old. My 
father had two sons when he married my mother; we 
were raised together until we left Virginia. I loved 
my half-brothers as well as I loved any one. Hiram, 
the oldest son, sta37ed in .Virginia, where he married 
the daughter of a wealthy planter, and afterward 
moved to Tennessee. We settled in Iowa where we 
have lived ever since. I always wrote to my absent 
brother until just before the war. My father is, and 
has never ceased to be, a Southern man in his opinions; 
he has always been a good, kind father to me, until 
now. He loves his son Hiram. My mother, who is a 
strong Unionist, loves the children she raised, though 
she grieves that they are in the wrong in this matter. 
My only sister loves her half-brother. I have dear 
friends who espouse each side of this great and bloody 
quarrel. 

‘1 had known through my home-folks, some time ago, 
that my brother Hiram was in the Confederate ranks; 
I prayed, as devoutly as I can pray, that I should be 
spared the knowledge that my brother was in the ranks 
in front of me! That night, on duty at No. lo, I had 
,my gun pointed at him and was just on the verge of 
firing, when Providence spared me. I took the risk — 
there was two of them — and made him my prisoner 
not knowing who he was. But when I found it was 
my brother; that his father was my father; that his 


116 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


sister was my sister, and she would weep bitter tears 
did she know I’d taken her brother, whom she loves so 
dearly, prisoner, my heart failed me! I offered to pa- 
role him and let him go; he acceded to my terms. 
He surrendered his allegiance to the so-called Con- 
federacy before the stronger ties. 

“I broke your order, never thinking what the cost 
would be. I am willing to take my punishment; 1 
know it will cost me less than to have sent my brother 
to prison! Sir, lay all the blame on me and punish 
me as seems to you just.” 

Gen. Grant had not looked into Will’s eyes after 
the first few sentences, and now he sat, gazing into 
space, for nearly a minute. Then, taking his pen, 
he wrote a while in silence, called an orderly and sent 
a letter to be delivered at once. Then turning to Will 
he said: 

‘‘My friend, had the North and South been made up 
of such men as you, there would be no war to-day; 
you have done a noble deed. I shall never forget you. 
Go back to your camp. Good-bye.” 

Will walked back slowly, with a bird in his heart 
and a frog in his throat. 

Harry came out to meet him with a letter directed 
to ‘‘Captain Wm. Morris of Co. F, Seventh Iowa,” and 
stamped- at U. S. Grant’s head-quarters. 

’Twas the commission, then, that Gen. Grant had 
filled before he spoke to Will, when he finished his 
story! 

Four of the boys held him up as high as they could 
while the rest of Co. F gave three rousing cheers for 
Capt. Morris! 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


117 


Lieut. Wiley was so busy in iiis tent that he didn’t 
get out in time to swell the loud shout for Capt. 
Morris. If only the wind had wafted the sound 
northward with enough force for Grace and Aunt 
Polly to have heard it! 


CHAPTER iX 


AT ELM COTTAGE 

“It’s almost Christmas again and the boys still away," 
said Floy one evening, as they sat in their accustomed 
nooks. 

■‘But, thank God, they still live! ’’ said Aunt Polly 
devoutly. "Think of John Minton’s young wife, whose 
husband will never come back; killed in the battle of 
Shiloh, and she has to make a livin’ for two little 
babies. Think of Henry Wilder and Roy Allen, 
three out of those twenty-seven that enlisted from 
here. Oh, when will the war close! What will come 
of it?" 

After a moment, to hush her own questionings Grace 
said, determined to see the bright side: 

“What shall we send Will for Christmas this time?” 
We can’t send a general box as before; wasn’t that a 
real pleasure though, it all went off so nicely! Some 
little Christmas he must have, even if we can’t have 
any. " 

“What would he think, if we would send him one of 
mother’s molasses cakes? That’s all we have now; 
and they’re quite good, with real coffee, " laughed Floy; 
“I wonder if soldiers have to use rye coffee, too?" 

“No, the boys get rale coffee, anyway, but lots of 
their families have to use rye, and many don’t get even 

118 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


119 


molasses cakes,” said Aunt Polly, ‘‘but Will must 
have a good cake.” 

"Perhaps — I feel quite sure, indeed,” said Grace, 
"that mother will want to send something to Clay and 
Harry, so we can send together.” 

A step sounded on the frozen gravel-walk; a light, 
quick rap at the door. Floy opened it, ^nd a bright- 
faced young lady entered, her cheeks aglow with un- 
usual excitement. 

"Lois Miller! What brought you here alone?” ex- 
claimed Floy. 

"A good stout pair of number 4’s, ” rejoined Lois, 
loosening her wraps and taking the rocker which Grace 
placed for her near the stove. "It’s a beautiful moon- 
light night, and I’m not a speck afraid of any one 
running off with me. Where’s Gwen? Sound asleep 
as can be, I suppose?” 

"Of course you’re not afraid of your respected 
teacher," said Grac.e. "Yes; the darling is sleepin’ 
down wif her dolly. Do you bring any news from 
the boys?” she anxiously asked, scanning Lois* face, 
for news was dreaded as well as welcomed. 

"No; nothing late,” replied she, "I just came to see 
you and have a talk.” 

"And we’re powerful glad to have you," said Aunt 
Polly. "We get mightily lonesome sometimes, waitin’ 
and waitin’ for the war to close, and listenin’ for ti- 
dings of our boys. ” This she said sadly, for Aunt 
Polly felt "blue ” to-night, blue as the sock upon 
which she was knitting. 

A kind, sympathetic look took the place of the usu- 
ally bright one; for Lois, too, was waiting continually 


120 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


for tidings from the absent ones, though she had no 
brother or father in the army. 

“No; our latest news was that of Will’s promotion 
— of course, you have the particulars from him. I’m 
so glad for you too!” 

“Thank you, dear," said Grace, “but you have heard, 
then, also, the circumstances which led directly to 
it—” 

“Yes; just think of the poor boy nearly shooting his 
brother!” said Aunt Polly; “it must have staggered 
him when he found out who the man was he came so 
near firing at. Poor boy! Hi used to be an uncom- 
mon good boy; I shouldn’t ’a’ thought this of him." 

“Pm glad he was made to go home, though, and 
stay there,” said Floy; 'now Will will know he isn’t 
shooting at his brother in battle.” 

“It was a trying scene, of course, but it showed 
WilPs true nobility, as well as bravery," said Lois. 
“Say, I guess I’ll go to the hospital. Do you think 
I'd do?” turning to Grace. 

‘The hospital!" repeated Floy; “Lois Miller, what 
in the world would you do there?" 

“Of course you’d do, dear,” said Grace, clasping her 
hand warmly and kissing away the tear that glistened 
on her cheek. “And your bright sunny face would bless 
and cheer many a poor suffering soldier; but ’tis your 
last year in school, Lois, and you wanted to graduate. " 

"Yes, but I also wanted to go to the hospital long 
ago; but couldn’t quite get the consent of my selfish 
old heart, and mother 5^et opposes it, but father says 
he’d be proud to have me go since he has no son to 
fight for the Stars and Stripes;" and Lois smiled fondly 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


121 


at the remembrance of her father's proud look, when 
she actuall}^ decided to sacrifice her ambition to rank 
well at school, to the higher one of ranking well 
among the noble women who sacrificed home and all 
for the sake of the Union and humanity. 

“You’re a good girl, Lois,” said Aunt Polly, busily 
picking up the stitches which she had dropped on 
hearing the news, “and have got lots of common 
sense along of a mighty good heart, and that’s a sight 
better ’n fine edication in jist book-lamin’. You’re 
purty young to leave home, though; and mebbe you 
haven’t got the narve for a hospital nuss. ” 

“Oh, Pm quite a sedate young lady now, Aunt Pol- 
ly; I was eighteen last week, and Pm not at all nerv- 
ous; indeed, I don’t know that I have any nerves, 
from any trouble they give me,” said Lois laughingly. 
"You are all such a comfort; I knew you would be, 
though, and so ran up to talk it over. I think I can 
get ready to enter upon duty on the first of the New 
Year. I want to go at once' and have it over.” 

“Shall you go to St. Louis?" asked Grace. “Do go 
there, dear; for you might be the blessed helper of 
some of our own boys.” 

“Yes, 1 want to go there, of course, since our Iowa 
troops are in the West,” she said, coloring slightly, 
“and then ’twill be nearer home, you know. There’s 
another thing that troubles me, and that is, I’m afraid 
father and mother wi\l actually suffer during the 
winter, for everybody seems so hard up. But I don’t 
see any way to earn bread if I stay here. " 

“God is everywhere, Lois; and your old father and 
mother will be cared for as the raven, before He’d 


122 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


allow them to suffer while you are on your errana of 
mercy,” said Grace, comfortingly. Lois gave her a 
grateful look and soon left, Floy accompanying her 
half way. 

Two weeks later, a sprightly little figure, in a neat 
brown dress, took the train for St. Louis amid the 
cheers and kerchief-wavings of a host of friends and 
patriots. 

The W. S. A. S. turned out in full in honor of one of 
its members going in person to the hospital, as nurse. 
The High School adjourned to see her off; and if Prof. 
Baker held her hand a little longer than was strictly 
necessary, it must be remembered that ’twas exciting 
times, and “everything’s fair in love and war.” Aunt 
Polly Morris, president of the W. S. A. S. and orig- 
inator of the idea of going in a body to see Lois off, 
had such a severe cold that she couldn’t go to the 
depot. But she waved a flag from the cottage door. 
Lois saw it and answered, to Aunt Polly’s satisfaction. 

A Christmas box had been sent to Capt. Will, Clay, 
and Harry with a nice dinner, though less expensive 
than the previous one, and a picture of Gwen standing 
up holding a flag-staff while the Stars and Stripes 
floated o’er her. An inspiration it proved to- Will on 
every battle-field afterward. On the back was written, 
in Grace’s well-known and beloved hand-writing; 

“Where did you come from, baby dear? 

Out of everywhere into hero. 

Where did you get your eyes of blue? 

Out of the sky as I came through. 

“Where did you get your coral ear? 

God spoke and it came out to hear. 

Whence came your hands and feet, such tiny things? 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


123 


Out of the same chest as angel-wings. 

“But how did these things come to be you? 

God thought' of me and so I grew. 

But why did you come to us, my dear? 

God thought of you, and so I’m here.” 

The cold that prevented Aunt Polly from going to 
the station, prevented her from going anywhere; and 
continued to grow worse until, one night, the girls 
came home from school and found her with high fever 
and a severe hacking cough. 

They were awfully worried, for Aunt Polly had al- 
ways been hale and hearty. She would never do any- 
thing for a cold; “Oh Pll soon wear it out,” she would 
say; but this one seemed determined to wear her out 
instead. Grace sent Floy off for Doctor Osborne, al- 
though Aunt Polly declared “ ‘twas no use, for she 
would just take a strong ginger-stew at night and 
sweat the cold off.” But Doctor Osborne’s serious 
countenance, after examining her lungs, told Grace that 
it was more than just a bad cold, and made Floy ask: 

“Is she much sick. Doctor Osborne?” 

“Yes, pretty sick,” he answered, then added gently, 
as he saw the frightened little one, “we’ll have her out 
of that in a few days. Polly’s grit never failed her 
yet and she’ll pull through all right.” 

After a romp with Baby Gwen, during which she 
loaded herself down with candy from “Danpa’s potet,” 
as she always did, he took Grace aside and gave direc- 
tions for medicine and good nursing. 

“Polly’s lungs are in a bad fix, Grace,” he said, 
“and she’s got high fever; she must have very careful 
treatment to pull through." 

“Oh, father, she must get well! ” cried Grace. “What 


124 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


would Will say if anything should happen to mother? 
We must make her well! Bless her old heart, 
she’d work her finger-nails off for us. Hadn’t we bet- 
ter put a bed up in the sitting-room, make a fire in 
the heater, and move her out there this evening? ” 

"Yes; that’s a good idea; oh, you and Floy will 
make capital nurses," said the kind physician, as Floy 
came into the kitchen to know the danger, if there 
was any. The suspense she couldn’t bear. 

"Doctor Osborne, you wouldn’t deceive me, would 
you? tell me the truth about my mother; Fll not cry, 
nor worry, but work to make her well. ” 

"Brave little girl, you’re made of the right metal. 
Your mother is very sick, but you and Grace can help 
me get her up again. ’’ 

"Oh, we’ll do it, Floy, let us move my bed into the 
sitting-room, and fix it comfortably for mother. Fath- 
er, as you go down town ask Mike to come early in 
the morning and chop us some wood. Run, play with 
Kitty, Gwen; see her under the stove?" 

"Say, father,” called she, just remembering another 
trouble, "Whatever can I do about my school? I 
can’t leave mother." 

"I was just thinking of it," said he, knitting his 
brow; "con-slam it! why ain’t I able to take care of 
you? Let the old school go; it’s too hard, the way 
you women have roughed it out; shoveling your own 
snow and stinting along to make all ends meet. Re- 
sign, of course. Will wants you to, and times must 
be better soon.” 

"Will insists upon my resigning, but he won’t draw 
any pay until March, and I don’t see how I can man- 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


135 


age things, father,” said Grace with a puzzled look; 
‘ Y^ou can’t assume too much of a burden, when you 
don’t get half your pay and no telling whether you 
ever will or not, when the people are so hard up. 
No, I must get a substitute for a short time, and re- 
turn again as soon as I can be spared.” 

Tears came into Floy’s eyes in spite of her efforts 
to choke them back — hot despairing tears; her life had 
all been so sheltered and happy before, but she was 
waking to its grievous phases now — hard cold facts 
for a girl of fifteen to learn. 

"If you were only teaching in the primary, I could 
take your place, Grace. I want you to stay here? 
you’d take so much better care of mother than I could, ” 
she said, the choking sensation coming to her throat 
again. “I’ll tell you what we can do! To-morrow is 
Friday, you go to school — I’ll stay and take care 
of mother and Gwen — and may be you can get Miss 
Monsoe, of the intermediate, to take your place, then 
I can cake her place like a top.” 

“You’re such a mite of a thing,” laughed the doctor 
“that those ten and twelve-year-olds would throw you 
out of the window.” 

“I’d come right in and thrash them,” said Floy 
promptly. 

“Now, don’t you think that might do?” thoughtfully 
asked Grace, “I think perhaps that would work. Floy 
is young, of course, but she’s plucky, and the children 
all like her.” 

“Well, she’s a fine little woman, anyhow,” said the 
doctor, bowing to her, as she went banging the ends 
of the bed-slats to knock them loose. 


126 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“Pll bring Mother Osborne in the morning to stay 
here, and I’ll drive you down to school.” 

The sick woman was soon comfortably fixed in the 
sitting-room, but the fever grew higher, and morning 
found Aunt Polly unconscious to all that was going 
on about her, calling piteously in her delirium for 
Will, and staring hard and cold at even Baby Gwen, 
who wanted to "tiss damma mornin’.” 

Mrs. Osborne, with her sweet motherly face wearing 
an anxious expression, came early, with the doctor, 
who shook his head ominously at the decided change 
for the worse. 

"Floy, you and Grace will both be needed here,” 
he said as he prepared some medicine. “A new sub- 
stitute must be found; Pll take Grace down soon and 
see about getting some one. ” 

Two weeks passed. Aunt Polly lay dangerously ill. 
All that human skill could do was done. Grace and 
Floy took turns every night in watching, with kind 
neighbors, for they would trust no one to do the 
smallest things — regulating the heat, ventilating the 
room, and giving the medicine on time. They found 
out the warm hearts that were hidden by the busy tur- 
moil of life; they found the "angel side" of neighbors 
they had known only in part before. For everybody 
wanted to help, and did help them. A. huge pile of 
wood was cut for them one day by Sam Cline, whom 
everybody laughed at for not going to the war after 
talking so loudly about it, and who was constitution- 
ally lazy. 

They were somewhat surprised, one evening, when 
Floy and Grace were alone, to answer a knock at the 
door and find there Harvey Morris. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


m 


“You’re surprised to see me, of course; but a man 
must be human. How is mother? Is she as bad as 
reports say?" 

“Goody, goody, Harvey! I wondered why you didn’t 
come; it did look so hard,” and Floy burst out cry- 
ing. 

Tears, real manly tears, came to Harvey’s eyes, as 
he kissed her hair fondly, saying: 

“ ‘Twould be a tougher thing than I could do, to go 
by, and leave her sick, when many a night she has 
watched by me, as faithfully as if I had been her own 
son. ” 

He left when Widow Edwards came in to 'sit up,” 
but slipped five dollars into Floy’s hand, saying: “You 
need more, I know, but ’tis all I have now. Let me 
know if 1 can do anything.” 

Grace saw it and smiled her approval; while she 
hated to take it, she was glad too, for they did “need 
money” so much. 

The crisis came at last, and the old doctor, who 
watched by the bedside himself, noticed the less la- 
borious breathing and felt the more even pulse, and 
his face beamed with gladness, as he said: 

“She will live! Thank God, she will live!" 

’Twas echoed by each heart. Floy laid her head in 
Grace’s lap, laughing and crying, and went to sleep. 
The burden had been lifted. 

’Twas a trying time for Aaron Morris; thrice he had 
been on the verge of going over to the cottage, and 
had even gone half-way once but turned back, saying: 
“No, I’ll not make a fool of myself. Everybody 
would say I’m ashamed of my principles and wanted 


i28 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


to take back my actions, Pm not ashamed and won’t 
give in an inch. I hope Polly will get well, though. " 

The next morning, he had given Floy a silver dollar 
when she came down. 

Aunt Polly mended very slowly; Grace went back to 
school-work again, but Floy remained housekeeper 
until April. Will’s extra pay relieved their want then 
and the hard times were tided over. 


CHAPTER X 


HARRY HOLDS THE FLAG 

The historian loves to tell of deeds of valor and 
courage; but in a war like the late rebellion, to pict- 
ure all the heroism, to tell in fitting words the achieve- 
ments of all the brave men, would take a lifetime; 
and one could only read the preface — only hear the 
mellow tones of the bell while the great war-train rum- 
bled and roared, rocking to and fro, and sweeping its 
millions to their last resting-place. 

Other wars have been waged for years, and, at the 
close, the victims could be counted by the hundreds, 
even by the scores; have been waged for years and 
but two or three have made a name worth mentioning. 

Alexander was the one great warrior of his day; none 
dared to face the "mighty Caesar; " and all Europe 
trembled at the very name of Napoleon, until after the 
battle of Waterloo; then England spoke of Arthur 
Wellesley as "Our Soldier." 

Not so in the late rebellion. The North and the 
South each hurled its mighty strength against the 
other, like a fierce hurricane beating against the sides 
of a huge mountain, and it was not until tens of 
thousands and hundreds of thousands were killed, that 
the fierce wave of rebellion was hurled back and the 
Union stood without a quiver. 

When this war closed, there were hundreds of Na- 
129 


9 


130 


IT COST; OR 


poleons and Alexanders, and many times had the bat- 
tle of Waterloo been fought over again. Though hun- 
dreds have been mentioned, thousands have been 
known only to the commands who saw their noble 
acts. 

This was only a skirmish, as historians say, but in 
it many valiant soldiers fell, as in Thermopylae, and 
a smooth-faced, blue eyed-boy, with a soul as great as 
that of the bravest general of them all, won laurels 
that might have honored a far-famed hero. 

’Twas the morning of May 17th, 1863 — the day after 
Grant had driven Pemberton from Champion Hill, and 
was aiming to cut him off and destroy his army or 
take it prisoner. 

General T — was ordered to hurry his division round 
to a certain point east of where he was then stationed, 
without molesting the enemy. In so doing, he had 
to take a circuitous route of three or four miles 
through a forest; a strong wind blew from the east, 
against which they traveled fast; for they were expect- 
ing an engagement, and buoyed up by the enthusiasm 
of yesterday’s victory, were anxious to open fire once 
more. 

While en route, Harry was mounted and sent back 
to carry a message to Capt. Garner, who commanded 
Company G, of the i8th Iowa, and who had special 
care of the supply-wagons at this time. Harry galloped 
swiftly down the road and soon passed the rear 
of the army as they hurried on. The roads were very 
muddy and the supplies were being left behind. 

Harry had handed Capt. Garner the message to 
bring his supplies forward with the utmost speed and 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


131 


push them far to the front if the battle were renewed 
that day. The note was read and the captain gave 
orders to quicken the speed; but scarcely had the 
words been spoken when a company of some five hun- 
dred Confederate cavalry-men dashed out of the forest 
in front of them. 

What to do was realized in a moment by the brave, 
resolute Captain Garner, who rode down the line, pale 
but with fiery eyes, and said to his men : 

"Boys, we must save this ammunition at any cost. 
We will have help soon, but now we must hold them 
off alone.” 

Those were his last words, for just then a volley 
of rifle balls came crashing through the branches, and 
several of Co. G’s soldiers were killed; among them, 
the brave Captain Garner fell from his horse dead. 
The lieutenant was wounded so severely that he could 
not take command. Several of the horses hitched to 
the wagons were killed or wounded, and all was soon 
confusion and fright; wagons were upset and all the 
drivers jumped from their places to the shelter of 
carts and trees. What to do came to Harry’s head 
in a moment; the captain was dead, the lieutenant 
so badly wounded that he could do nothing; and Har- 
ry’s very face showed the soul that animated his boy- 
ish form. His lips and eye denoted an unyielding 
spirit. His clear voice rang out: 

"Now, boys, let us show our metal; for Capt. Gar- 
ner’s last words were: ‘We must hold them ofl at any 
cost.’” 

In the next volley, Harry’s horse was shot from un- 
der him and the flag was broken from its staff. In- 


132 


IVH/fT IT COST; OR 


stantly the boy grabbed it and set it in front of the 
head-wagon with, “There we’ll keep it, or we’ll die!” 

His words acted like magic; soon every man was 
rallied, and from behind wagons, trees and dead 
horses they returned the fire with such vigor that the 
Confederates were driven from the center of the road. 

Still they continued to pour an almost continuous 
fire into the handful of scattered soldiers. 

The boys expected now, at every minute, to see the 
Confederates attacked from the other side; for surely, 
the main army would hear the firing and come to the 
rescue. 

Volley after volley was poured into them; nearly 
every horse in the train was killed or wounded, and 
only the wagons and trees saved the boys. They kept 
concealed as much as possible, and when the Confed- 
erates closed, Harry would say: “Fire!” and every 
man of them would obey his orders as if it were Gen. 
Grant himself that spoke. Almost one-fifth of their 
number was killed in the first fire and charge; still 
the boys in blue knew they were holding their own 
with the “gray-coats,” if these did outnumber them 
five to one. 

However reluctantly a man may go into battle, when 
once there all fear vanishes. A forgetful anger takes 
possession of the whole man; and with fire in his eye, 
a determination written on every feature, he thinks 
only to avenge the death of his comrades. When their 
number becomes few, he feels that a double duty is 
now upon him, and for the double duty well performed 
comes the just demand for twice-double reward. This 
little band of heroes had in their charge all the sup- 



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DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


133 


plies for one grand division of Grant^s great army. 

"We can hold them at bay, boys, and weMl do it at 
any cost — help will come soon, surely,” said Harry to 
the little group behind one of the wagons; "but we 
must get in better position.” 

It was suggested to run four of the wagons up even 
and let them form a breastwork, and it proved an ex- 
cellent plan. 

They were now in good position, and Harry, though 
a comparative stranger, was regarded as the fit com- 
mander of the miniature army. Twice the flag-staff 
was broken, but the flag was replaced in position; the 
third time the staff was too short, and Harry put it 
on a gun barrel and bayonet and stood it up over them. 

Charge after charge the Confederate cavalry -made 
upon them, and, once or twice, they came almost near 
enough to reach the handful of brave men defending 
the supplies. But each time they fell back when the 
shots were thickest, and before they were out of gun- 
shot they had received every bullet in the Minie rifles. 

Almost one hour (it seemed a day) had passed when 
the welcome sound of firing on the other side was 
heard, and, after one volley, the Stars and Stripes 
came sailing into view, like a bird of paradise. Gen. 
T — ^s "old yaller" was leading the van. 

In five minutes all firing had ceased, and four hun- 
dred of the five hundred who made the attack were 
prisoners of war; the other hundred had been "paroled" 
to never bear arms against the Union. 

Out of over one hundred Union soldiers and drivers, 
only sixty-three remained. 

"Is Capt. Garner shot?” was Gen. T — ’s first question. 


134 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Not a word was spoken, but one of the soldiers 
pointed to where he lay, with the blood and brains 
oozing from where that cruel bullet had buried itself. 
All turned their faces from the ghastly sight, but some 
one gave an audible groan, and turning, Harry saw 
"Darkey Pete," sobbing as if his heart would break. 

"Oh, sah, I can^t help it, sah, fur dat am just de 
way my pooh Jo did look, shot right through in de 
head, an’ he am all de ’lashun I hab in dis worle. Oh! 
oh! Poor Jo! " 

"Well, boys, you’ve done bravely. You’ve fought 
like men!" said Gen. T — , as soon as he could speak 
without giving way to his emotion. At the words, 
Harry’s mind reverted to the little white chapel in Ma- 
pleton; he heard again Rev. Miller’s voice, “Quit your- 
selves like men!" and tears sprang into his eyes which 
had flashed fire so recently — but Gen. T — was still 
praising them. 

"You deserve more credit than the knights of King 
Arthur’s round table." 

‘‘Hit was all along on thet chile, sah," said Darky 
Pete. "Hit’s all along on that chile," pointing to Har- 
ry, who blushed under Gen. T — ’s approving look. 
"But we didn’t hab no time to git round a table, an’ 
bofe my teams dead wid de harness rite on ’em.” 

The wounded were cared for, but a battle was being 
fought now, for the strong wind brought the roar of 
cannon and the smell of smoke. So the dead soldiers 
of both blue and gray were left with the horses in the 
road. 

But Gen. T — said, as the drivers started over the 
dead bodies of the Confederates; 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


135 


"Be careful, bo3^s, don’t trample or disfigure any of 
them. They have all dear friends, and they them- 
selves were good citizens once; and all that remains 
of them is now here. ” 

"Let that flag be just as it is," said Gen. T — •. "I 
want Co. F. of 7th Iowa, to see it and know who it 
was that helped to keep it there. They’ll be prouder 
than ever of their boy-soldier then." 

"Helped to keep it there! " exclaimed one of the 
company; "he placed it there himself and told us we 
must keep it there at any cost." 

"If he hadn’t come up just as he did, the whole line 
of supplies would have been taken, and we also, for it 
did look like suicide to shoot back and have them 
continue to fire into our little band. But he was so 
young and so fearless that I ’spose we would have 
died right there if he had told us to do so." 

Soon they were upon the scene of battle, and Harry 
had forgotten his exploits of the morning; but when 
the battle was won, and all were making arrange- 
ments for camping on the field that night, the wagon 
with the tattered flag was driven up before the tents of 
Co. F, and Gen. T — took time to ride around and 
explain to the men how and where he had found 
"their boy" in the morning. 

The company was delighted to hear all about the 
skirmish. Capt. Will was proud of Harry and said so; 
Clay was jubilant, but only smiled his enthusiasm. 

"Be jobbers, an’ I wish I had ben there to hev en- 
couraged the boy," said Pat. 

"Yes," rejoined John Edwards; "you would have 
put the whole mob to flight, if you hadn’t got shot in 
the ear." 


136 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“Yea make a heap of fun about my being shot in 
the are, but if yea had a part of the aches I hev from 
it ivery few days, you wouldn’t call it such a joke. 
An ril belave, till my dying day, that ivery bone in 
that are was broken." 

Harry was surprised more than ever when Gen. 
Grant himself came around next morning, looked at 
the flag and praised Harry for his “true bravery ” 

“Here," said Gen. Grant, “you may claim it for 
your pains." So saying he handed the relic to the boy, 
who felt that these words of praise and looks of pride 
from Gen. Grant repaid him for all the weary marches 
since leaving home. 

“Faith an be jobbers!" cried out Pat, turning from 
the receding General, and eying 9ritically the torn 
flag, which Harry was still holding just as General 
Grant had given it to him. He ' had decided, on the 
spot, to send it to his mother without unrolling it. 
“An he’s as stingy an ould craythur as I ever sot my 
eyes on. Why couldn’t he hev give ye a houl one, 
to be sure; that thing is just riddled intirely. An 
they’ve got a plenty of houl ones — it’s a snakin’ trick, 
ses I." 

A laugh was the only reply of his comrades, and 
Harry held it tight, as if he feared it might stir or get 
away. 

Two weeks later the W. S. A. S. was in session in 
Mapleton. Gen. Grant’s army was around Vicksburg; 
the whole North was standing on tiptoe, listening to 
catch every whisper of news from the army of the 
West, which had known nothing but “On to victory." 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


137 


A committee is now at the depot and have tele- 
graphed for news, but no reply has come back. A 
whistle down the river announces that, in a few min- 
utes, the Eastern mail will be in. The red mounted 
to each woman’s anxious face, as she thought of the 
letter she hoped to get from her dear one far away, 
whilst the smoke rolled in great clouds from the engine 
as it came round the curve. 

Doctor Osborne had been walking up and down the 
platform quite sedately; but when the train came near- 
er and nearer, he walked faster and faster. One of the 
group of men, standing by, remarked that the doctor 
reminded him of a huge lion as he stalked from one 
end of his cage to the other, restless and as if wishing 
to be back in his native forest once more. 

The train has not fully stopped before the mail sack 
is thrown off, and it has not touched the platform ere 
it is caught and started off to the postoffice. Then 
come the sacks of newspapers, and all eyes scan them 
eagerly, as if they could read some of the wished-for 
news through the leather-bound canvas. 

“Oh, here’s more mail; I came near carrying it by,” 
said the mail agent, and this time he held up a flag 
without the staff. He did not throw it, but carefully 
handed it down to Doctor Osborne with : 

“I guess, by the looks of it, this has a history.” 

The old doctor read in big letters, "Mrs. Dr. Os- 
borne.” The fine writing he couldn’t make out with- 
out his spectacles; he fumbled nervously in his pock- 
et for them; but Guy Harrington ended the suspense 
by reading aloud: 

“Please let mother unroll this; it is just as Gen. 
Grant rolled it up and handed it to me. Harry.” 


138 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


If that crowd had been near Vicksburg the roar of 
the cannon and the whistle of the bugle would have 
been drowned by the air-splitting yells that were echoed 
from the bluffs across the river. Sam Cline gave the 
signal, and, from the dignified old doctor himself 
down to Mike McGuire, there came out three long, 
loud cheers for Harry. 

The doctor hurried off toward the hall to find Mrs. 
Osborne, for he was anxious to see the old flag un- 
furled; and thereto he was followed by as large a crowd 
of men and boys as is usually found in the wake of 
the elephant on show-days. 

"Here, Elizabeth,” he called, as he reached the top 
stair, "His from Harry; he sent it to you and wanted 
you to open it. Gen. Grant gave it to him, rolled 
up just as it is now.” As the doctor ended, with a 
deep breath, he was surrounded by the W. S. A. S., 
who were unceremoniously adjourned at his coming. 

Mrs. Osborne unrolled the flag, amid various com- 
ments and ejaculations from the ladies and girls about 
her. Tears filled her eyes as the tattered flag told its 
story of a hard-earned victory her blue-eyed boy had 
evidently helped to win. 

Aunt Polly had surveyed the torn banner closely 
and was now ready to make a prediction, and she ut- 
tered it slowly and deliberately. 

"There are just thirty-five holes in that flag, and 
thatH just the same number as the states belonging 
to this Union. Now I calkerlate this as a sign that 
the Union will be saved and the old flag preserved, 
but there’ll be a hole in every state in the Union.” 

The hall was soon crowded and the Rev. Miller was 


DEBTOR /1ND CREDITOR 


139 


called upon for a speech. The flag had created 
enough enthusiasm in his heart to put eloquence and 
words of praise in his mouth; he gave vent to his 
feelings in strong terse terms, but he forgot to men- 
tion the other brave boys and men who had enlisted 
from Mapleton. ^Twas an oversight on the part of 
the good old minister, but ’twas one that touched ten- 
der chords in the hearts of those who had dear ones 
of their own facing danger, as well as Harry, so when 
he took his seat no applause followed. 

“I shall never give Miller another cent!” said Mrs. 
Edwards to Mrs. Harrington, as they walked down 
the street together after adjournment. "I don’t see 
any use in praising one boy up so high, and not say- 
ing a word for others riskin’ just as much as he. 
Harry Osborne wus alius praised up at school and 
every place else. Jest cause he’s got a kinder nice 
way of making folks like him. Alius got more credit 
than he desarved. I’ll warrant. John never would ’low 
folks to brag on him and I’m glad on it. ’Taint no 
use in praisin’ folks up and makin’ ’em proud and 
stuck up.” 

“There come the school-boys, and Guy is reading 
a letter; I wonder if it isn’t a letter from Harry?” said 
Mrs. Harrington. 

“I’ll warrant he is braggin’ about his big things in 
the army, whatever they air," and Mrs. Edwards 
turned her head away as they were now passing the Os- 
borne house, and she thought she almost hated 
the whole “Osborne set.” 

“Who is your letter from, Guy?” was Mrs. Harring- 
ton’s inquiry as they neared the group of boys. 


140 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“From Harry. A good one, too, I tell you!” said 
Guy; “Harry is a splendid fellow.” 

“I 'spose he's a mighty big fellow, to take his word 
for it,” was Mrs, Edwards’ quick remark, and she 
couldn’t refrain from giving Guy a scornful look, for 
it was too much to hear him commence another eulogy 
upon Harry’s virtues. 

“What does he say, Guy? Does he say anything 
about the other boys?” asked Mrs. Harrington. 

Mrs. Edwards was starting on as Guy said : 

“Yes; he mentions nearly all of them, but says a 
great deal about ^noble John Edwards,’ as he calls 
John.” 

“Huh! I didn’t ’spose he could call anybody noble 
but hisself, ” said Mrs. Edwards, her tone softening a 
little as she stepped back. 

“Is that all he says about John?” 

“O no! I’ll read you what he says of him: ‘I can’t 
tell you of each one separately as I should like and 
as I know would suit you; for Gen. T — told Will and 
John Edwards that we would change our position 
in two hours. John is our lieutenant now, you 
know — ” 

“What! you don’t say so!” exclaimed Mrs. Edwards; 
“I knowed my John would hold his own alongside the 
best of ’em.” 

“Yes; John’s lieutenant,” said Guy. “Here’s how 
it came about," and he read on, Mrs. Edwards listen- 
ing with a smiling face. 

“‘We got tired of Wiley, and he of us; so after I was 
with those Iowa fellows that held the supplies, Gen. 
T — offered to make Clay lieutenant for the part I 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


141 


took. I don’t know what Gen. T— meant, but he 
said: ‘Tip, you shall have a reminder for that work, 
but you’re too young to take Lieut. Wiley’s place, so 
I guess we’ll put Clay in (he had sent for Clay and 
I to come to head-quarters). Clay would not take the 
place; for both of us thought John Edwards deserved 
it; so Gen. T — said, if we wanted Edwards, then he 
would recommend him. He did; and John is Lieuten- 
ant Edwards now. I tell you John is as brave as brave 
can be; so quiet about it too. That’s the only trouble 
with him, he’s too quiet; people don’t know him well 
enough to tell his worth. If there is a true, whole- 
souled, brave soldier in the army, John Edwards is 
one. We just love him. He and I had a long talk, 
last night, about home. He feels just right about his 
mother and sister. He will get extra pay now, and 
he’ll save it to send home to the folks, for he’s like 
his old mother in that particular: he will share his last 
cent. I remember she used to give me a quarter of a 
pie every evening I went that way from school. How 
I’d like to have some of the pie now that she used to 
give me when I was six and seven. Clay got to call- 
ing John ‘gold-filled’ and now we call him Lieut. 
Gold-filled Edwards. Pat makes us lots of fun.’ 

“That’s all about John there, but he speaks of him 
with the rest in two or three places,’’ and Guy stepped 
across the street to help “Pat McGuire Jr.’’ out of a 
mud-puddle he got into as they came from the hall. 

Mrs. Edwards declared she had forgotten something 
at the store, and Mrs. Harrington went on with Kate 
McGuire, but she noticed that Mrs. Edwards never got 
past the Osborne home. 


142 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Rev. Miller had stopped at Doctor Osborne’s too, 
and Mrs. Edwards paid him her share for the next 
quarter, and a dollar more, saying: 

“The extra dollar is for good measure, because I 
think anybody that can talk as nice as you did about 
a deservin’ boy, and ’lows his only daughter to go as 
a nurse to the hospital, desarves a little extra pay.” 

Two hours were spent in talking over the war and 
the boys. Dr. and Mrs. Osborne learned for the first 
time how Harry, when he first started for school, used 
to go around to Edwards’ every chance he could gel 
for pie, and how the good old soul had always 
loved Harry since he was a little child, almost like one 
of her own. 

The old tattered flag, by Mrs. Edwards’ suggestion 
was hung over Harry’s picture in the parlor. 

Shortly afterward, there came to the Union camp a 
box of knickknacks and several pies, directed tc 
“Lieut. Gold-filled Edwards” and Harry “True-worth 
Osborne, from "Pie-baker,” Mapleton, Iowa. 


CHAPTER XI 


BABY GWEN FINDS THE WAY TO THE OLD MAN^S HEART 

“Now, Gwen, you run into the sitting-room and 
stay with grandma. I am going over to grandpa's. 
Get your dolly — where’s Gwen’s dolly?” 

“No! no! me do to my danpa wid my Foy, " and 
Baby Gwen clung to Floy’s dress still saying, “me 
want to do to my danpa’s wid my Foy.” 

Aunt Polly was reading war-news; Grace had gone 
to Judge Burton’s to give Emma a music-lesson, for 
Emma had a piano and gave Grace extra pay to come 
to her house, since Grace had but an organ at Elm 
Cottage. 

“Now, mamma, if you’ll look after Gwen, I’m going,” 
said Floy, as she tied on her big sun-down and started. 

Aunt Polly rarely took time to read, but now she 
was thoroughly interested, and, though she made some 
answer to Floy, she did not know what she said; and 
only remembered, two hours later, that she had heard 
Gwen say, “Dood-by, my danma, I do to my danpa 
wif my Foy.” 

Floy sauntered across the meadow, enjoying the 
balmy June air and sky, her thoughts a medley, which 
caused various expressions to play on her mobile face. 
Now she plucked a wild rose; now she looked long at 
a neat gold medal she wore on her necklace, saying 
to herself, “Wear it till I come, wear it till I come." 

143 


144 • 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Then she caroled a few words, blithesome as a lark 
just set free, but scarcely would the song die on her 
lips before a sober, even troubled, look would o’ercast 
the sunny one. 

“Poor girl!” said Rev. Miller to himself, as he 
passed her at her father’s gate, “I can’t see how she 
always seems so bright and happy; ’tis a wonder her 
trouble does not crowd every mite of sunshine out of 
her young heart." 

Had he seen her a few minutes later, he would have 
thought her young life clouded indeed, for she leaned 
against the. old gate-post and had a good cry, notwith- 
standing her vows to be bright and cheery. 

“It’s just too bad! ” she half sobbed. “Here I feel 
just like an orphan and my father and mother both liv- 
ing, not more than half a mile apart! When I’m here 
it seems as if my mother must be dead, and when I’m at 
Elm Cottage I feel as if I had no father. One brother, 
a captain in the Union army, another a paroled rebel, 
a third at home with scarcely a friend on account of 
his opinions about the war! But I must do my chores, 
and stop my very thoughts, or I shall go wild! “ 

Letting the gate stand ajar, she bounded up the 
walk as if she wanted to run away from her bitter 
thoughts, through the kitchen into the pantry, and was 
soon kneading bread. She had not looked back and 
had hardly cast a second glance round the room; but 
she soon noticed that her father was not sitting in the 
large arm-chair, just the counterpart of the one she 
had left her mother sitting in. 

Many times, this summer, Gwen had started to fol- 
low Floy across the meadow; but Grace had always 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


145 


caught her before she had gone far and brought her 
back, for she wasn^t sure that the disinherited son’s 
baby would have a welcome at his father’s home. 

Aunt Polly had often said: 

“No, indeed, since Will has been turned out, bekase 
he’s a Union soldier — his little ‘Union baby’ shan’t 
set her dainty little foot on the place.” 

But Aunt Polly was too much absorbed now, in the 
long lists of “Dead," “Wounded” and “Taken prisoner, " 
to notice anything else; and before Floy had been in 
the pantry ten minutes, “Baby Gwen” had climbed up 
the steps and was on her grandfather’s porch, for the 
first time. To the baby’s extreme delight, Tabby, with 
three cunning kittens, lay on the door-mat. “Dat 
ditty!” she cried in baby glee. “Dat my ditty!” and 
soon she had forgotten everything but the treasures, 
and was trying to get all of them in her lap at once. 

Old man Morris came around the corner of the house 
and found her there. He stopped short, and stood 
fully two minutes watching the new-comer on his 
porch. 

The old man had kept his ground; he had never 
wavered but once. When Aunt Polly was so danger- 
ously sick last winter, he had been tempted, a few 
times, to go up to Elm Cottage; but as soon as she 
was well again he had called himself “an old simple- 
ton” that he had ever allowed such a thought to enter 
his head. He had known of the hard winter they had 
just pulled through, but had never given a thing ex- 
cept to Floy. The snubbing received from his former 
friends and kind neighbors hurt him, at first; but now 
he prided himself on “not caring for what they thought 

JO 


146 


IVH/iT IT COST; OR 


or said. ” He, in turn, nursed an enmity against any- 
one who "sided with the North.” He had always been 
a stern-featured man, but now a harder, more deter- 
mined look had settled about his eyes and forehead. 
His hair was now quite gray, and resembled bristles 
more than hair, for it stood straight up, as if it, too, 
disdained to bend. 

But, amid the old memories of other babies, who 
had played on that porch, the big blue eyes were 
turned toward him; and with all his firmness, he could 
not withstand the sweet baby glance and the "Are oo 
my danpa? Are oo my dear danpa?” Grace had al- 
ways shown him to her, as he passed to and from the 
village, and had taught her to call him her "dear 
danpa” just as she did Grandpa Osborne. 

"No, baby. Pm your old rebel grandpa! ” he said, 
for he thought Floy must have brought her there to 
trap him. Then he remembered seeing Floy bound 
up the walk and into the house alone. The next min- 
ute he had stooped down and taken her in his arms, 
for the first time in her life. 

She clung to one kitty until he had taken her up in 
his arms, when she let it fall on the floor, causing it 
to cry with pain. 

"I doppen ditten! I doppen dittenl Poor ditty, 
poor ditty! ” and Gwen squirmed in his arms until he 
let her down to get the kitten once more. 

Then holding it tight in both chubby arms she 
cried, "I hud my ditty! My mamma hud datten baby!” 
and she pointed to her little rosy cheek. 

It was too much for a man who had raised children 
and loved them, as he had, to resist the temptation of 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


147 


kissing the dimpled cheek, and, with a hasty glance 
about him to see that no one was watching, he held 
her close to his face and kissed her. That kiss was the 
key that unlocked the old man’s heart and brought 
great tears to his eyes. Again and again, he kissed 
her and she was perfectly willing so long as he allowed 
her to keep the kittens. 

Floy had finished her work, and not seeing anything 
of her father, she had gone out through a side door 
and down into the garden where he spent much of his 
time. Not finding him there she went up the long 
rows of grape vines, calling him, but no answer came. 
Then, thinking he had gone to Harvey’s, she found 
her way across the field toward Elm Cottage. 

The old man took a seat on the porch and watched 
the child playing. He fancied he could see the actions 
of Will in the baby's every movement. More than 
once, he brushed a tear from his cheek with his rough 
hand. 

“Why should they treat me thus? Why should I 
live so close to my grand-child and never have had her 
on my knee before this? Why should my child, my 
only daughter, live in another house than my own, 
and not see me for two or three days at a time? It is 
a hard, hard world!” he said, half aloud, as he 
watched Gwen romp with her “ditties.” But the ten- 
der feelings were replaced by cold, hard ones again, 
as he thought of how Will had met Hiram and paroled 
him; and with his old stern look, Aaron was himself 
again. Will didn’t seem like a son now, but more like 
a step-son. Hiram and Harvey seemed like the only 
true Morrises. 


148 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


"Me wants my mamma! me wants my mamma!” 
and Baby Gwen, quite tired out with her play, got up 
and began to look about her, in wonder, continuing to 
cry out: 

"Me wants to do to my Foy, me wants mamma.” 
Mr. Morris thought Floy was still in the house, as he 
had not seen her leave; so went in to send her out to 
the child. 

"Florence, Florence," he called, "Oh Florence!” 
but no Floy could be found, and he saw that she had 
put the bread in the pans ready for baking. 

"Where can she have gone? and what can I do 
now?” he exclaimed, as he hurried through the rooms 
looking for her in the most unlikely places. 

By this time Gwen was crying piteously, and he 
was getting quite anxious to find Floy, for he was sure 
she must be about the place. He called "Florence, 
Florence!” from each door, but no answer came. 

"Well, they think they’ve worked a sharp trick on 
me!” and he frowned at Gwen, who turned her baby 
face helplessly to him; the tears were chasing each 
other down her cheek, while she sobbed as if her little 
heart would break. 

"Yes, they’ve brought that baby here to conquer me,” 
he went on. "Polly tried it by calling me ‘rebel’ and 
‘traitor,’ ’lowed the town would tar and feather me, 
and hoped they would! Will tried it by defiant looks 
and informed me that he wasn’t a child to be dictated 
to. Grace — well, Grace thought she’d be mighty 
smart by pretending thar was nothing goin’ wrong and 
being uncommon good to me. Humph! she probably 
thought she’d be looked upon with favor even if I did 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


149 


cut Will off without a cent! But they all found the 
old man was as good as his word. 

"And now they think they’ll bring me around with 
a squallin’ bab}^ But they won’t; they must give up 
their notions and come back if they want any friend- 
ship with me. But what can I do with that baby? 
how can I get her home? for I hate to abuse the baby 
for the wrongs of her parents. ’’ 

Then he took the little one and talked baby-talk to 
her, showed her the clock to amuse her; gave her a 
ripe apple; and a truce was formed. He found out 
that he was as good at taking care of babies as when 
he had babies of his own, in the old happy long ago. 

Now if I knew she got here by accident, I’d take 
her pretty nigh to the gate; but I’m too suspicious of 
.them, to go to so much trouble; I have to show them 
their schemes won’t work,’’ he said. "Hold on! I’ve 
hit upon another plan — I think* it will work too! 
Here, baby, take this apple to your mamma.’’ He 
helped her through the gate and put her in the path 
which led to the cottage; the baby holding the apple 
tight and saying, quite pleased, "Datten my mamma 
appety. ’’ 

Then he went up-stairs and watched to see that no 
serious harm came to her. 

While he was thus worrying and trying to get rid 
of Baby Gwen, at Elm Cottage they were terribly wor- 
ried over her absence. 

"Where’s Gwen, mother?’’ asked Floy, as she came 
in from her trip and failed to see the chubby forrr 
which always attracted her attention first. 

"Why I don’t know, 1 guess she’s in tb^ yard 


150 


IVHAT IT COST; OR. 


some place,” said Aunt Polly, putting away her glass- 
es. 'Tve been reading some more about the war and 
Pm really afraid our boys will never accomplish what 
they hope to; why the very names of ’em rebs is 
enough to scare a common man! There’s old Beau- 
regard, think what a name for a human being; and 
a Bragg, too, but I guess he won’t brag much if he 
gets a few more lickens like Rosecrans give him at 
Mustfreeberuff. ” 

“Why, mother, where is Gwen? I can’t find her out 
of doors any place!” and Floy went through every 
room in a “twinkle.” Aunt Polly ran to the well, 
then to the cellar, Floy following her, and both look- 
ing into places too small for a kitten. Finally, Aunt 
Polly remembered hearing Gwen say, “Me do to my 
danpa’s wif my Foy. ” ^ 

“Oh,” she said, looking somewhat relieved, “she 
thought you were going down to Osborne’s and has 
tried to follow you. If she got down there they would 
keep her, of course, sposin’ we knowed; but you must 
run down there right off and see.” 

Floy ran as fast as she could, but was surprised 
when she got nearly there to hear her mother, only a 
few rods behind her, shouting: 

“Hurry, Floy! why I could- go as quick as you my- 
self!” 

“Why, Floy, is anything the matter?” asked Gr^ce 
as Floy rushed into the doctor’s without knocking. 
Floy was so bewildered and tired she could only look 
about the room She was very pale too, from fright. 

“Gwen’s gone! Gwen’s lost!" she gasped, and her 
manner would have scared them if Gwen had been 
standing in the room. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


151 


The wildest excitement prevailed, though the doc- 
tor, who happened in soon after Floy, tried to be 
cool-headed and supposed he was. Aunt Polly by this 
time had studied out about the time the baby had 
told her “dood by," and finding it was about two 
hours ago, it increased the fright intensely. 

“Pve just come from Judge Burton’s, there’s no use 
going out that way," said Grace, white as the fresh 
laundried muslin she wore. "But we must go ever}' 
other way, quick. " 

At the word, they each took a different street or al- 
ley, looking, inquiring, and sending others on the 
hunt. 

Everybody in town knew Gwen, and, from Judge 
Burton to the McGuire children, everybody joined in 
the search for her. Soon the whole town had been 
gone over, but no trace of her could be found. 

Then they met on street corners to plan for a more 
definite hunt. 

Everybody had suggestions to make; everybody 
tried to explain away the absence. Some thought she 
had been stolen, and several had seen suspicious-look- 
ing persons of late. The train had stopped before it 
got to the station, and had not waited its usual time 
when it did come up; a carriage had driven through 
Mapleton, that day, with a fine-looking gentleman in 
it, but since Gwen was gone, many remembered that 
"his eyes didn’t look just right." A mean-looking 
man had been met out of town, a little ways, by some 
of the country folks, but he had no child with him. 
Others thought that some wild animal had carried her 
off; and bear-stories were told in abundance. Others 


152 


IVH/iT IT COST; OR 


thought the guerillas had carried her off, and meant 
to raid the town while the excitement was great in 
search for her. 

Doctor Osborne did not, as a rule, decide a point 
quickly, but weighed every particular and was usually 
right in is final opinion. Now he listened to all these 
stories and conjectures meditatively. Finally, he 
said : 

“No, gentlemen, you’re wrong; none of those rea- 
sons will do. Wait and I’ll unravel this whole 
thing. ’’ 

Then he drew Aunt Polly aside and they talked in 
low tones earnestly; but the nearest heard the words, 
“Aaron,” “for spite,” “to bring Will home,” “Hi- 
ram^ s paroled” — that was enough ; for before it had 
reached the center of the crowd it had grown from a 
covert hint to a glaring statement of fact. It was a 
spark, and the dry supposition was being added which 
would soon make a great fire of threats. 

But stop — there comes the Rev. Miller who, seeing 
the crowd and guessing its meaning holds up the 
baby, safe! 

A sigh of relief escaped Grace’s lips, while a cheer 
of gladness went up from the crowd. 

“Where did you find her. Rev. Miller?” asked the 
doctor. 

“About half-way home from her Grandpa Morris’.” 
replied Rev. Miller, while Gwen finished the explana- 
tion by saying: 

“My mamma appety, my mamma appet}^ my danpa 
dive my mamma appety! ” 

“Grace clasped the darling close, thinking what 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


153 


she’d been spared writing to the “papa” who had 
never seen her. There was a general laugh from the 
crowd whicli now dispersed, some going one way and 
some another, but all with a kindlier feeling toward 
Aaron ^Morris. 

Sam’l Cline went home that evening, and chopped 
wood for his wife until dark, the first, ’tis said, since 
the original war-meeting in town. 

“Wa’al, nothing was said about Aaron Morris that 
he didn’t desarve, ” said Mrs. Edwards at the Osborne 
gate, as they watched the Elm Cottagers wend their 
way homeward, a happily united family again. 

“O yes, there was,” said the doctor,” I’m heartily 
ashamed of my suspicions, and am willing to be 
kicked two blocks for what I said against him.” 

The carriage with the fine-looking man came in 
again in a few minutes, and stopped at Rev. Miller’s. 
It was the presiding elder of the M. E. church and 
he held meetings for the next two days, having a large 
and well pleased audience — Baby Gwen was a part 
of it — and no one found fault with his eyes. The 
train stopped a little before it reached the station or 
ran a little beyond, stopped half an hour, or half a 
minute, and none of the village people suspected that 
the “gold-headed” president of the company, or any 
of the employes, was making a practice of stealing 
babies along the route. Floy was the only one that 
could see the “soul of goodness” in the accident. She 
had long been wanting to talk of “Baby Gwen” to her 
father; and now that he had actually deigned to send 
Grace an apple she thought she would not only be 
allowed to speak of Gwen but of Grace and Will as 


154 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


well. She was not at the cottage long, until she found 
an excuse to go down to her father’s, and away she 
went with the little bird in her heart almost ready to 
burst its throat with song. 

"I wonder how ’tis best to introduce the subject," 
she thought at the door; but before she had devised 
a plan, she and her father were chatting away about 
one. thing and then another. Finally they reached the 
garden, the orchard and apples. "Now’s my chance,” 
thought Floy, and she asked quickly, "From what 
tree did the apple come that you sent Grace, papa?" 

If an electric shock had gone through the old man, 
or an earthquake had shaken the house, the old man’s 
look of surprise would not have been greater than 
now. 

He gave Floy a hasty withering glance; then gazed 
into space as if he expected to see some way out of his 
present dilemma. He had always tried to teach his 
children that truthfulness was one of the cardinal vir- 
tues; that a lie was a lie, and was made all the worse 
by putting some of truth’s clothing upon it. 

To hide behind a baby’s innocence was more than 
his conscience would allow, so he wouldn’t say he had 
not sent it, but he told Floy the whole incident, add 
ing: 

T love the baby. Yes, the baby has found the way 
to the old man’s heart. But she must not be allowed 
to come here any more; for your mother and Will 
must come to my terms or not come at all, and there’s 
the end of it!" 

Floy had had so much hope, that this came to her 
like a thunder-bolt and she burst out crying: 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


155 


“But. papa, 1 love you all, and I know you all love 
one another, if you’d just own up to it and not say a 
word about the war. ” 

Mr. Morris took her upon his lap, as he used to so 
often. He acknowledged that both “Polly" and "Wil- 
liam" had some good principles about them; but they 
had waded right through his "orders and commands," 
and if they came back it would not be over a bridge 
of his building; but they would have to wade back 
and leave their foolish notions and the war on the 
other side. "No, Florence," he continued, "my word 
has always been law in my family. They trampled it 
under foot and now they must pay the penalty. Will 
is no son of mine, nor is Polly anything to me. You 
need not say another word about them any more.” 

Floy knew it was better to say no more, for it would 
only make him more determined to oppose her, when 
once "set." 

For two minutes neither said a word. 

"Where did you get that?" he asked, taking the med- 
al from Floy’s necklace and going for his spectacles. 

"It isn’t mine!" said Floy, coloring highly. 

"Harrison Osborne," the old man read aloud. "May 
17th, 1863." Then looking straight at Floy’s facer 

"Why, what’s that for? and how does it come that 
you are wearing it?" 

Floy hesitated a moment, and then said: 

■ Tt was given to Harry for bravery, I believe, and 
I am wearing it because he sent it to me until tie 
comes home. I presume the reason he sent it to me 
was, so Grace would be sure to see it, and also his 
schoolmates. " 


156 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


‘‘Well, well, I admire bravery, even if it is on the 
wrong side, and would like to know more of this. 
What are the trees and wagons for?” 

'‘They represent the forest in which the battle was 
fought, and the wagons are supply-wagons he helped 
to defend.” Then he turned the medal and read from 
the other side the motto: 

‘‘For bravery. True courage is never without its re- 
ward. From Gen. T — . ” 

“That’s a splendid motto, and a piece of gold like 
that with the engraving must have cost a nice little 
sum of money.” 

Floy was just beginning to congratulate herself upon 
her escape from even an angry look for her boldness 
in wearing a Union medal to a house whence the 
Stars and Stripes had been shot down, when, being 
through looking at it he handed it back to her with: 

“That’s a fine medal, indeed, but you must leave it 
out of my house, Florence; I have no sympathy for 
the men who are down there trying to take property 
away from their rightful owners, and don’t care to see 
any of the trophies that cost our brothers in the vSouth 
so many lives and so much property. No, no, Flor- 
ence, don’t bring that thing here again.” 

Soon, Floy was on her way back to the cottage, but 
the little bird in her heart was not singing so merrily 
as when she passed over the foot-path an hour before. 

“The baby has won her way to the old man’s heart, 
the baby has won her way to the old man’s heart, ’ 
she repeated to herself. “But what’s the good of it, for 
he won’t let her in. And he’d stand up for the South 
if the whole state of Iowa was against him! Oh, dear!” 


CHAPTER XII 


THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 

During the long campaign of ’63, the Mapleton 
boys, and indeed the whole of Co. F, had shown 
themselves tried and true; they had been detailed on 
several important missions and had won the name of 
"Old Reliable" from Gen. T — » 

Each soldier had the utmost confidence in his steel-' 
hearted young captain, known 'among them as "Capt. 
Will,” who had often quoted to them, "The old guard 
never surrenders," and who had been their inspiration 
at Vicksburg and in many skirmishes. But they need- 
ed all the confidence that success can inspire, for the 
hard pull was yet to be made. The 7th Iowa was 
thrown in Hooker’s army to relieve Thomas at Chat- 
tanooga, and, on the morning of the 24th of Novem 
ber, made an attack upon Lookout Mountain, a 
strongly fortified fortress in such a commanding place 
as to be almost unattainable. 

The army was drawn up on the river bottom a mile 
below; a huge, solid mass, yet with throbbing heart 
— a thousand in one — and flashing eye. There flapped 
in the morning breeze the defiant "stars and bars," 
far above them against the clear blue sky. The ascent 
was steep, broken by deep ravines and strongly de- 
fended at every flat; but the sight of that usurper wav- 
ing so exultantly there, stirred the brave hearts under 

157 


158 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


the blue-coats, and they waited but the command of 
“Charge!” to dash forward. 

Gen. T — ’s regiment was sent forward among the 
first troops. As they scaled the heights to the first 
flat, not a sound was heard save the crackling of dry 
under-brush and the sound of soldiers’ tread; an om- 
inous, dread stillness above like the hush of nature 
ere a great storm arises in all its fury. 

“Faith, an be jobbers, there’s niver a man at hum!" 
said Pat; "or ilse they’re all a slapin’ ! ” 

"They’ll wake up in plenty of time to send some 
of us to our long sleep,” rejoined a comrade. 

“Halt!” and scarcely are they arrayed in line when 
the tremendous “Boom! Boom! !” of cannons, the 
“whiz” of bullets as they cut the air, and the dying 
groans of the fallen, tells them that the battle has com- 
menced. 

It took stout hearts to mount o’er the bodies of fall- 
en comrades, and without waiting to listen to their 
dying call of “Tell my mother — ” or “For the love of 
heaven give me — ” to fill their places in the broken 
ranks and join the death-struggle amid the fearful din 
and confusion. But cost what it would, the brave 
men upon whose right arm rested a Nation’s safety 
were equal to the emergency; and though filled with 
a humanly shudder at the horrible slaughter of noble 
men about them, sternly, almost fiercely, they steeled 
the quivering nerves and faced the inevitable. 

They rush forward — are driven back. One line cut 
down, another takes its place, fighting the harder over 
the prostrate forms. 

Late in the afternoon, Gen. I -’s division was al- 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


159 


most panic-stricken. It had been where the fight was 
hottest; they had been badly cut up, but had rallied 
until now when it seemed impossible to resist. But, 
from a broken, disorderly line, there rang out, firm 
and clear, a familiar tune. They turned to see "Capt. 
Will,’' pale, but with head erect and flashing eye — his 
face to the foe, as he hurried down the line singing in 
a full deep voice; 

“We’ll rally round the flag, boys, 

Rally once again, 

Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom!’’ 

*Twas a strange sound for the time and place, but 
it acted like magic. 

“We’ll rally from the hill-side. 

Rally from the plain, 

Shouting the battle cry of Freedom!” 

was taken up by the whole company. Then echoed 
all along the lines: 

“The Union forever! hurrah, boys, hurrah! 

Down with the traitor! up with the flag, boys! 

We’ll rally round the flag, boys — 

Rally once again.” 

They did rally, and this time to drive the enemy 
from its position and to place the loved Stars and 
Stripes where had floated the traitors’ flag. But where 
they followed, triumphantly, the retreating foe. Will 
Morris didn’t go. 

All unconscious he lay, on the very spot where the 
victory he had inspired was gained; his face pale as 
death, and the rich life-blood oozing out from his 
coat-sleeve — he had fainted from loss of blood. A 
wound in his right arm had been received some time 


160 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


before, but with heroic courage he had charged with 
the crippled arm swinging helplessly, his soul all un- 
daunted by the sting of the bullet. 

When he revived, the moon was shining brightly 
over the scene — as brightly as it shone on Grace’s 
soft brown hair when he had told her he loved her, 
and saw, by the silver light, the color come and go up- 
on her fair cheek, and the new tender light in her 
eye. But a sad, sad scene it revealed to-night, as he 
raised his head and looked around on that terrific 
picture which would never be effaced from his memory. 

In the distance, he could hear the boom and roar 
that told the battle was still raging; nearer, the 
groans and cries which pain and death wrung from 
strong men as they thought of dying there alone, and 
of their wives, children and mothers, far away, wait- 
ing for the home-coming which would never take 
place. 

‘‘You live then, friend; there’s a chance for you yet,” 
said a voice near by, and Will looked into the clear 
eyes of a man of middle-age, sitting against a tree 
a few feet from him. One limb stretched out at full 
length and tied up with a bloody handkerchief told 
he was wounded in the leg, while his dress showed 
him to be an officer in the Union army. 

"Yes; I must have fainted; the last I knew, the en 
emy fell back and we rushed in," said Will in a voice 
so faint and tremulous he scarcely recognized it. 
He attempted to rise, but fell back, too faint to do 
so. 

"You’ve lost lots of blood, sir, but I guess you'll 
pull through if we’re picked up soon." 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


161 


“Did you tie this string round my arm?” asked 
Will. 

“Yes; and yonder Confederate soldier furnished the 
string,” said the officer. 

“Poor fellow! He’s almost dead. I think he is 
shot in the breast and can’t live.” 

The poor fellow thus spoken of was calling so pit- 
eously for “Mary” and his little black-eyed boy, that 
it was heart-rending. 

“Who will answer for this slaughter and suffering, 
your government or mine?” asked he almost fiercely. 
“We think we’re imposed upon and our interests un- 
protected, and I suppose you think you’re right." 

“Poor fellow,” said Will, tenderly, “we’ll leave the 
answer to the Great Being who knows the motives 
which prompt the actions of men, and who is both 
merciful and just.” 

“Oh God, ’tis hard to die!" cried the expiring Con- 
federate soldier; ‘1 thought I’d never flinch; shall I 
never see you again Mary? — oh it will break your fond 
heart —and my precious black-eyed bo}^, will I never 
listen to your childish prattle again after my day’s 
work is over? Oh home, sweet, peaceful home,” he 
went on softly and faintly, “must I die like this, 
alone? Men, if ye be merciful, write to my home in 
Georgia’s pretty dale and tell them I died unflinching- 
ly; save my thoughts for them. Tell my father I ne’er 
disgraced the proud name we bore but have done my 
duty truly and loyalb'', and that I die for the cause 
we loved. My mother will weep — but father will 
tenderly care for them, and oh, he’ll be glad I died 
with my face to the foe." 

// 


1C2 


IVH/iT IT COST; OR 


Will and the Union colonel had both crawled to 
his side, and Will wept real, manly tears of sympathy 
as he thought of Grace and mother and his own 
sweet babe, whose form he had never held in his 
proud arms. 

The kind officer held his canteen to the dying man’s 
lips, and stroking his brown hair said, as tenderly as 
a woman: 

“Poor fellow, where is your home, and what mes- 
sage do you wish to send? We’ll write as soon as we 
reach camp.” 

“Thank you! God bless you!” came from the pale 
lips. Then rousing himself with renewed ambition: 
“Tell Mary that her sweet face has been my guiding 
star through all the weary marches, and when the' bul- 
lets flew thickest; for the home we loved I fought my 
best. But never — oh never again will I see it! In 
my pocket is her dear, hopeful letter — I got it the 
night before the battle. By it you can see where to 
write. But leave her picture next my heart — the child 
with her is Charley — tell him to never forget to care 
for her who gave him birth — ’tis his father's dying 
charge! We’ll meet in heaven— live for it, mother — 
Mary — keep on praying in your quiet home to-night.” 
The head fell back exhausted. “O kind sirs, can you 
say a prayer?” 

A moment’s hesitation fell. Will felt deeply the 
sense of his own littleness in the sight of God, whom in 
the strength of his manhood he had neglected, but who 
alone could help now, when human aid could go no 
further. He thought of his promise to Grace, whicli 
in a measure he had kept; but God had seemed so far 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


163 


away when he tried to pray, and he had kissed the 
passages she had marked in her little testament and 
read them o’er and o’er, thinking of the pure, gentle 
maiden who marked them, instead of Him whose 
promises they were. 

But now he wished he could pray, trustingly, as she 
and his good old Christian mother did; and, with the 
thought of their prayers, he began to hope he might be 
heard; but, before the first words were uttered, a deep 
devout "Our Father” came from the man beside him. 

"Yes, Our Father,” faintly repeated the dying sol- 
dier, "we’ve all — the same — father.” 

"O, pity and help us all,” went on the Union 
officer. "Forgive the wronging and the wronged. Give 
peace to this poor boy, for Thine Own Son’s sake, 
and be with his loved ones in their sorrow.” 

"Amen,” came fainter still; a shudder passed over 
the form, and the black-eyed Georgia boy was father- 
less. 

"Poor fellow! ” said Will, a few minutes later, when 
the awful sense of the presence of death and suffering 
had passed away in part. "His home was just as dear 
to him as ours to us; his wife’s tears will be just as 
bitter as those ours will shed if we do not return.” 
The bare mention of it cost him a pang, for he knew 
that though only wounded in the arm he was in great 
danger, if help did not reach him soon. 

The pain was getting quite severe now, and he was 
too weak to run if there should be a flank movement, 
or the army in front of them be forced back. 

The other took the letter — Mary’s loving, cheerful 
letter, full of hopes that the war would soon be success- 


164 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


fully over and they’d dwell in peace and love in their 
pretty Southern home — from the soldier’s inner pocket. 
He saw the bright-eyed Charlie of two years perhaps, 
who smiled at him from the picture; they replaced it 
in the soldier’s pocket reverently, putting the letter 
carefully away, with the message the dead man had 
dictated, in his note-book. 

“The leaders of the rebellion are to blame for this 
suffering,” said the Union colonel; “Is it not strange 
how the Southern people are educated from childhood 
to believe slavery perfectly proper, and from child- 
hood they foster a prejudice against the North, until 
many of them feel they are doing a noble act in stand- 
ing by the flag of the Confederacy? Strange how they 
pray success to the stars and bars, while we pray that 
the Stars and Stripes may triumph — and we all ad- 
dress the one God who pities and loves us all, whether 
sinned against or sinning. Thank God, there’s another 
and a better world!” 

“What is your name and where is your home?" 
asked Will, for, as he afterward expressed it, he saw 
his new friend was made of the “right stuff ” “Mine 
is Wm. Morris of Co. F, 7th Iowa. 

“I hail from Illinois — with Grant and Logan; I am 
of the 22d Illinois,” he replied. “I left home in the 
spring of ’62, in time for Shiloh. Have never had a 
scratch until now." 

“Listen! there’s firing to the left of us," said Will; 
“the rebs are making a flank movement. They’ll keep 
it up all night, and they may come over us again," 

“Whist! " came a noise from behind a thicket near; 
“ye’es hed better cum roight in here wid meself, " and 
Pat emerged from his hiding-place. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


165 


“Begorrah! an’ ef it ain’t Capt Morris hissilf — an 
air ye’es kilt, Capt. Morris, intirely?" 

"No: only a wound in the arm,” said Will, bright- 
ening at the sight of a familiar face, but darkening 
perceptibly as it dawned upon him how Pat came 
there. 

"Pat, how came you here? Do you know what they 
do with deserters?” 

"Desarters is it, ye’es calls it? An’ Pm a wounded 
soljer loike yersilf, an my clothes air a-full of bullets 
I can skercely carry ’em! — Whist! Here comes some 
rebs. ” And he disappeared in the woods. 

’Twas a gray-coat getting plunder, and soon they 
saw a Union officer on a big yellow horse ride into 
the field; the gray-coat had raised his musket to take 
aim at him as he came in range when Will saw him. 

"Shoot that reb! For heaven’s sake — he’s aiming at 
Gen. T— !” said Will. 

“My musket isn’t loaded.” 

"Take mine here !” 

The gun was fired; Gen. T — rode unconsciously on 
in safety. With a sigh of relief. Will saw "Old Yal- 
ler” soon gallop away. If Gen. T — had only known of 
this narrow escape and of his deliverer’s need, how 
quickly a wagon would have been sent that way! 


CHAPTER XIII 


“dead on the field’’ 

“ ’Twas a glorious victory,’’ the telegrams said; “a 
glorious victory, only five thousand lost all told.” 
Such was the glad tidings which ran joyfully over the 
wires; such was the tidings gladly repeated through 
the crowd that had gathered at the depot in Mapleton 
to get the earliest report. 

The girls had come down from school to wait until 
after the mail at three o’clock. 

Floy, foremost of the group of school girls, stood 
arm in arm with Marne Edwards, her cheeks burning 
and eyes kindled; while towering with excitement 
above them, and conspicuous among the crowd, was 
Hannah Edmonds’ calico sun-bonnet; and Hannah’s 
sallow face underneath it, showed the anxiety she 
felt to hear who was among the five thousand. 

“Not Jack,’’ she whispered, so audibly that Floy 
heard it and gave the long hand a little squeeze, as it 
lay on her shoulder; Marne heard it too, and her face 
grew scarlet, for at the moment, she was whispering 
those same words to herself. 

Grandma Clarkson, though over seventy, had hob- 
bled down, for she had three grandsons in Co. F, 
and Co. F was in the battle. Jim’s little boy Ben 
clung to her hand, and glanced from time to time into 
her wrinkled face to know if “pa was dead or any- 

166 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


167 


thing;” the tears or smiles coming on his face as a re- 
flection of hers. 

Everybody visited some neighbor to pass away the 
tedious waiting; everybody but Hannah, who just 
waited for news. 

Folks called her cross and soured; but there was a 
warm corner in her heart, and there Jack Riley was 
enshrined. Once she had been happy and blithesome 
as the lassies who now made the school-hall ring in 
Mapleton; but disappointed in her one love affair, and 
left to "go it alone,” she had termed her independent 
life "caring for an aged father and mother,” until their 
death, a few years before; and now the stern, black 
side of life was all she could see. 

A gleam of sunshine came to her through her love 
for Jack, her only sister’s son. He had been left to 
her care, since a little playful fellow of five, when his 
mother died. Soon afterward his father married again, 
but Jack was still left at the farm with the old folks 
and Hannah. A mischievous, teasing boy was Jack, 
who loved to see "Aunt Hannah” get mad; and when, 
as a last resort, she would whip him, he would laugh 
at the whole performance, saying: 

"Lay it on a little harder, Hanner; you’re dusting 
my coat in fine shape! Go it, old girl!” And de- 
spairingly she would finish with a "tongue lashing,” 
then smile to herself at his grit, while he bounded off 
with "Shep” for a rabbit chase. 

But she couldn’t spare Jack for any country or flag, 
and after lying awake all night, spilling all the cream 
this morning by losing her hold on the jar before 
she had it o’er the table, and putting the coffee in the 


168 


IVH/ll IT COST; OR 


tea-kettle. ‘ Lucky it warn’t the rile stuff though,” she 
had told Grandma Clarkson. For it wasn’t in Han- 
nah Edmonds to be wasteful. She had hitched "Old 
Dobbins,” whom Jack always called “Old Bones,” 
whom he vowed wouldn’t cast a second-class shadow, 
to the buggy, and came herself for the news. 

“Wa’al, ef there aint Hannah Edmunds jest as ank- 
shus about Jack Riley as ef he was the best feller in 
the world. Now he’d never min’ her, an’ ’twould be 
a good riddance. I’d think. But she would alius crawl 
on her hands and knees to work fur the shiftless boy, 
and she was well nigh wild over his goin’ to the war,” 
said old Grandma Clarkson. 

“Poor Hannah!” said Mrs. Miller, the minister’s 
wife, one of the group in the background. “She loves 
Jack as the brightest thing in her life. Think how 
faithfully she took care of those old people too; I feel 
sorry for her — so sorry. She works like a man, in- 
doors and out.” 

“That Jack Riley wuz never very good at helpin’. 
I’ve heerd,” said grandma; “but, of course, she spiled 
him herself! Here, Ben, don’t lose yourself. What 
wuz it the man said?” 

“Message for Doctor Osborne, from Harry Osborne, ” 
the operator has said. 

The crowd around the office-window fell back as the 
doctor wedged his ponderous body through. 

Why should he tremble so? After each battle the 
boys had sent a message, sometimes Clay sending it, 
sometimes Harry. An awful pause fell for a moment, 
then he who had been the strength of so many, reeled 
against the railing, while his quivering lips and 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


160 


blanched face told the by-standers the worst news had 
come. At last, he gasped piteously: 

“My God, who will break it to his mother?" 

"Who is it. Doctor Osborne? what is it?" asked 
Floy Morris, taking the message from his hand and 
reading: 

"Head-quarters U. S. Army. 

To Dr. Osborne, Mapleton, Iowa: 

Will is wounded in the arm; Pat says he saw him, 
and — oh, help my mother bear it — Clay is dead! 

Harry Osborne." 

Aunt Polly Morris came into the station-door in 
time to hear her exclamation of “Will’s wounded! and 
— oh dear! Clay’s — " The awful word was never uttered, 
but everybody knew and everybody was deeply touched 
by the tidings. 

“O, my poor boy!" and “Heaven pity Clay’s poor 
mother!” came almost simultaneously from Aunt Polly’s 
ashen lips. “But they were true blue; thank God, 
they fell at the post!” 

Someone saw Grace coming, wheeling Baby Gwen 
in her pretty new buggy that Will had sent the money 
for and asked Grace to get it as "a present from papa 
for her first birthday gift." 

The little one was laughing happily and she called 
out “baby, bye bye! " to Guy Harrington, who came 
out to meet them. 

Grace and Aunt Polly had come down to Doctor Os- 
borne’s, that afternoon, and the Doctor was to go for 
the news while they stayed with his wife. She could 
not go to the depot, for the waiting and the dread of 
the news had given her a nervous headache. 


170 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


But Aunt Polly couldn’t wait. So she found some 
excuse for going down, and finally, Grace had started 
down “to meet father" when the first message of the 
victory had been carried up town by some one. 

Guy wished he hadn’t come out to meet her; though 
he had felt so sorry for them, he thought he must do 
something; but he wished he hadn’t come, for, “What 
news, Guy?" came from Grace’s mouth before she 
reached him. 

What could he say — he could not imagine! He 
had pitied her so, and had come out to get Gwen, who 
was quite fond of him; but to have to tell her — ! 

“Chattanooga is taken, but — " he began. 

“But what?" she demanded quickly, as he hesitated. 

“Guy Harrington, tell me, is my husband — ?" Every 
trace of color had left her face and her great eyes were 
dilated to their full extent. 

But Doctor Osborne had reached her in time to spare 
Guy, who actually cried like the rest as he watched 
her face. 

“Grace, my dear daughter — " he began. 

“Don’t keep it back," she cried. “Tell me — is Will 
dead? or the boys?" 

“We have a hard thing to bear, Grace, but you must 
help mother bear it. Will is wounded in the arm — " 

“Oh, he’ll get well then," broke in Grace. 

“Yes, but — Clay is dead!" and there he broke down. 

Clay dead! Clay? Why it didn’t seem possible. 
Cool-headed, clear-sighted Clay never got into the 
troubles venturesome Harry had — she had never feared 
for Clay. 

“Dead!" she repeated; “O, no, no — not dead! What 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


171 


will mother do! oh, Clay, Clay! ” and laying her head 
on her father’s shoulder she sobbed aloud. 

"Someone must go to the house and tell mother," 
she said presently; "someone must go alone!" So 
’twas arranged for the doctor to do it himself, since if 
anybody else went she would suspect the awful truth 
at once. 

Oh, it was so hard to bear! She tried to meet it 
like a brave Christian woman; she tried to remember 
he died in a noble cause; but she loved him so. 
Death seemed so sad for Clay; he was just reaching 
manhood and had such a flattering prospect of a happy, 
useful life. 

Among the friends who called to show their sympa- 
thy was Hannah Edmonds. As she noticed how every 
body felt so sorry over this one boy, she couldn’t keep 
from wondering "who, but her, would have mourned 
if it ha-1 been Jack?’ 

"Don’t take on so,” she said, when Mrs. Osborne 
broke down and sobbed: ‘My boy will never come 
home again!" "Don’t take on so, tis wicked. Lots 
of people’s only boys is tuk. What if it had a-bin both 
of ’em?" 

Grace wanted to start for Will at once, though she 
wouldn’t know where to find him and could only wait. 

’Twas a long night that followed, lights were left 
burning in many homes, all through it; for the two 
messages were all that came, and otlier boys had not 
been heard about. The mail was watched eagerly on 
the second and third days afterward, and the fourth, 
everybody thought, would bring the papers, and 
letters too, perhaps. 


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IV HAT IT COST; OR 


Half an hour before the train was due, a crowd of 
men, women and children were at the station. Han- 
nah had come down again, although she was “always 
opposed to women a-gaddin’ around.” Now she sat in 
the cart and held old Dobbins, wondering why women, 
with men-folks to send, came swarming with the 
crowd. 

A subdued sound from the noisy assemblage marked 
the sympathy they felt for those in sorrow, as Doctor 
Osborne came down. It was his first time away from 
home since that stunning blow fell upon it. 

While waiting, Widow Edwards walked over to 
Hannah and talked as kindly as could be, though they 
hadn’t spoken for over three years, when they had had a 
little ‘fuss.' 

Just as the train heaved in sight, old man Wells 
came rushing from the mill, congratulating himself 
upon “being on plenty of time to get the earliest news 
and he wouldn’t lose but a few minutes either; loafing 
round the depot didn’t help matters a bit!" 

The newsboy’s papers were in great demand. Han- 
nah and Mrs. Edwards looked over one together. 
There was Clay Osborne’s name among the slain, and 
Capt. Wm. Morris among the wounded. 

A quick “What’s that? Great heavens! ” came from 
miller Wells, who had found the name “Clark Wells” 
among those taken prisoners. 

“Andersonville! Better dead at once!” exclaimed the 
old miller. ’T told him not to go! I told him not to 
go ! ' But tears filled his eyes as he turned sadly 
homeward to take the news to the boy’s loving mother. 

The mail was followed by the eager crowd to the 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


173 


postoffice. Floy Morris had come directly there from 
the Osborne home, where the “cottagers" had stayed 
most of the time waiting news from Will. 

Doctor Osborne got a letter from Harry, and putting 
it tenderly away, he and Floy went up to the house to 
read it. 

Marne Edwards and her mother both got letters, but 
Marne’s was addressed in the same hand-writing as 
the one Hannah Edmonds had grasped so eagerly, 
bearing the superscription “Miss Hannah Edmondsj” 
at the first sight of which, she had cried out, “It’s 
from Jack! Hurrah, he’s all right then!” 

’Twas the first letter Marne had ever received from 
Jack Riley, and its excuse for being written it told — 
’twas the night before the battle. 

“We’re right outside the rebs’ picket lines, and to-mor- 
row morning we’ll go for them and they for us. Bul- 
lets are mighty hard things to dodge down here; so 
there’s no telling what’ll happen, and I feel like doin’ 
the sentimental somehow, and keep thinkin’ about 
you, Marne, all the time. I’m only Jack Riley, but I 
love Marne Edwards, and if I pull through this war 
and ever have a home. I’m going to ask you to live 
in it. This is funny truck to be saying when I never 
went with you but two times in my life, and always 
had a notion you wouldn’t have stood it then if it had 
nDt been you hated to mitten me. But I’ve had m}^ 
eye on you ever since you used to come to school in 
your bare feet and checked apron. I’ll never get over 
it. Don’t be hard on me — don’t make fun of me, even 
if you do think I’m a fool, for we all feel as blue to- 
night as our coats. If I never see you again, good- 
bye. Yours truly, Jack Riley." 


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IVHAT IT COST; OR 


On the envelope he had written: "The finder will 
please send this to Marne Edwards, Mapleton, Iowa. 

Then he had written, after the battle: 

"P. S. I found the letter in my pocket myself, so 
I guess ITl send it myself. We’ve had a horrible 
fight. When we got in we just went at it like tigejs 
We whipped ’em clean out, too; but Clay Osborne’s 
killed. A fine fellow as ever was, too, and not a bit 
stuck up, as I used to think afore I knew him well; 
and Will Morris, our captain — an old stunner on the 
fight, too, he aint afraid of nothing — well, he’s wound- 
ed; arm off, I guess.. I don’t feel like braggin’ over 
beatin’ the rebs a bit. Here’s Harry Osborne in our 
camp looking like a ghost, and he bursts out crying 
whenever he sees any of Clay’s traps. Be dogged if 
I don’t feel blamed choky myself. It will be mighty 
hard on the Osborne folks. I know you’ll go and see 
them, and tell ’em you’re sorry. Would you be sorry 
if it was me? I dare say my old aunt is nigh wild 
over me. I guess I’ll write to "Hannah' since I’m 
goin’ it on this line. Sa}^ won’t you write to a feller 
sometimes? it’s harder work keeping a "stiff upper lip 
and powder dry" down here than you’ve any idea. 

"Reckon you know thet John’s our lieutenant now, 
and a dandy one he is too; guess the Osborne boys got 
him the job. Poor Tip’s a-writing home now, I guess; 
for he’s a stoppin’ every once and a while and wipin’ 
his eyes, keepin’ his face turned away. He’s all-fired 
plucky. Tip is, but this has pretty nigh used him up. 

‘Guess I’ll go out and cool off, or I’ll be a blubber- 
in’ too. 

■‘Write to me, please. I never said please to a 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


175 


woman in my life before, but you’re different. 

“Jack Riley.” 

Marne read it at the office-window, and Hannah Ed- 
monds, who watched her jealously, felt kinder toward 
the girl she had always thought a “stuck-up chit tryin’ 
to put on airs over the fine clothes her mother sewed 
for;" she had felt sure the letter was from Jack, for “he 
alius had a hankerin’ arter the little flip" and Mrs. 
Edwards had got one from John, for she said so. 

As she was driving Dobbins toward home, Marne hap- 
pened to be at her gate, and with an uncommon pity for 
the “poor lonely woman,’’ she said, smiling so sweetly 
that Hannah knew she wasn’t making fun of her: 

“Won’t you come in and rest a while, Miss Ed- 
monds? Ma is just home and would like to talk it all 
over, I know. ’’ 

Hannah was quite melted, and felt a little choky as 
she stopped Dobbins, saying: 

“Wa’al, I don’t care if I do rest a little spell; I’m 
well nigh tuckered out with worrying and trottin’ 
about.” 

“Yes, do come in and sit a spell," said Mrs. Ed- 
wards, coming to the door, “and Marne, you fly round 
and make us a cup of tea — the rale stuff to-night ; my 
nerves are just completely unstrung with the sad news; 
Take this easy chair, Hannah. Poor Mrs. Osborne! 
they say she takes it mighty hard!" 

After tea, which Marne prepared in a hurry, Han- 
nah jogged on home with a lighter heart than usual. 

In the meantime, Harry’s letter was being read up 
at the Osborne house. The doctor did it, though at 
times he could not see the words, and more than once 


176 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


broke down completely ; so they all cried together. It 
did them good, though. 

My Dear Mother and Father and Darling Sister : 

It breaks my heart to think of you weeping to- 
night, as I know you are, and I not there to help you 
bear it. But my darling mother taught us boys that 
there is a higher power than man’s to depend upon in 
the darkest night. I wish I could lay my head in 
your lap, as of old, mother, and tell you all about it, 
but there isn’t much; only the cold, cold fact. 

After the battle, I was passing along over the field, 
stopping here and there with some poor wounded fel- 
low— sometimes blue and sometimes gray; they all lay 
there together and all had mothers, wives or someone 
who loved them — when suddenly my eyes fell upon 
Clay! Dead on the field — dead without a word; but 
father, mother, dead with his face to the foe! He 
had fallen just as the victory was gained; for he lay 
just where the last work was taken. No one but God' 
can ever know what I felt when 1 found Clay there — ” 

Here some words were blotted out with Harry’s 
tears. The doctor stopped; Grace wound her arm 
lovingly about her mother and they wept together. 
Floy, who sat on a stool at Aunt Polly’s feet, sobbed 
aloud, till Gwen came from her “ditty” to say ‘Poor 
Foy. ” The tears brought relief and the doctor read 
on : 

“The night before the battle, mother, I went apart 
from the rest and, thinking of you and home and the 
dangers the battle would bring, I knelt down alone to 
pray, when Clay came out and knelt beside me. He 
put his arm about me and said, as tenderly as you 


DEBTOR AMD CREDITOR 


177 


would have done: ‘Dear Harry, let us pray together 
the prayer mother taught us to say at her knee; for 
we may not see her again in this world.* And we said 
‘Our Father’ together. I told him we must not think 
of the dark side, that we were in the right, and must 
both pull through. ‘I wouldn’t shirk duty if I could,’ 
he said, ‘but there will be many lives lost to-morrow, 
and why not one of us among them? But I’d rather 
die than have to tell mother! Darling mother! she 
loves her boys so! But cost what it may’ — and he 
looked so proudly grand — ‘cost what it may, we’ll put 
the Stars and Stripes on yonder height and tear down 
that rebel flag!’ And I’m so glad he lived to see the 
Stars and Stripes floating there against the sky. Don’t 
cry, mother; but I aui crying too! How I wish I was 
there to comfort you, who always kissed our tears 
away! We know that Clay has just gone home — to 
that home where no war nor death can come. But oh, 
what shall I do without him! My grand old patriotic 
father will be glad to know, that he was a valiant 
soldier; true as the steel of his musket to the cause 
of the Union. 

“I couldn’ t find Will, after storming the lines on the 
evening of the 24th — and, Grace, you may well be 
proud of him, for he rallied a panic-stricken line and 
led them to the fiercest of the battle by his own brave 
daring. But he was wounded even while he enthused his 
scattered troops. He was wounded in the right arm, and 
perhaps he will lose it, the surgeon at the field-hos- 
pital said, but he will get well. He was sent to St. 
Louis, I think. Oh, ’twas a great victor}’, they say 
all through the camp; but the cost — the cost! 


178 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


"We’ll stand by the old flag though, father, motner, 
Grace. Don’t weep; be brave and strong; for we’re 
freeing a million of down-trodden people and holding 
this proud' Union united and safe, and ’twill pay, 
though my life among the many may yet be required, 
and though our suffering be deep as the wound in our 
nation’s heart. 

"I thought at first I’d try to send Clay’s body home, 
so it could be laid by our little sister we never saw, 
and where we could put flowers over his grave — he 
loved them so. But I think he’d rather be buried 
where he fell ; so we laid him to sleep with the ‘brave 
and the true’ who fell with him, with the flag he 
loved wrapped round him. 

"And when the war is over, we’ll come down and 
plant flowers upon it; so they will grow all over the 
long grave, and live bright, and beautiful, as the 
noble deeds of those who sleep beneath them. Keep 
on praying for the success of our troops; God is for 
the right — but oh! ’tis hard to see that this is for the 
best! Write soon. Your loving boy, Harry." 

"Just think of that dear, brave boy, never thinking 
of giving up, come what will, " said Aunt Polly, after a 
few moments of that dead, heart-trying silence which 
comes with such pathos in real anguish. 

"He’s a boy to be proud of!" 

Then she stopped short with a tremor in her voice, 
thinking of her own dear boy who must always wear 
an armless sleeve, even if life be spared him. 

" ’Twill almost kill Will to lose his right arm," burst 
out impetuous Floy, "Oh dear, dear! If only there 
had been no cruel war!" 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


179 


"Thank God! we’ll bear the loss of limb, if need 
be," said Grace softly, wiping away the tears that fell 
like rain on little Gwen’s bright hair, making her lit- 
tle face take a puzzled look, as one little hand wiped 
tear after tear from Grace’s cheek; and she said: 

"My mamma ky? poor mamma hut herself?" 

Floy kissed the darling quickly, and Grace held her 
close as she began laying plans for Will’s comfort in 
the hospital and his speedy home-coming. 

"He’ll be sure to be sent to St. Louis, won’t he, 
father? and I must go to him at once; ” looking wist- 
fully at Gwen, she added, "Yet my bab}^ would miss 
her mamma." 

"Of course she would. I’ll go to Will,” said Aunt 
Polly, decidedly, "I’ve nussed him through many a 
sickness, and know just how to manage him." 

"Let me go,” said Floy, “wouldn’t I do — Lois would 
help me see what to do, and 1 do want to do some- 
thing so bad." 

"We need you here, Floy, to help us all," said the 
doctor, "you’ve been doing the right thing to help 
lighten the burden.” 

During these dark days, Floy had tried to show she 
was sorry, in ways that would give comfort and cheer; 
she could not tell her sympathy in words. A fresh 
bouquet she kept on the table, made from Mrs. Os- 
borne’s house-plants; the doctor’s chair was wheeled 
before the fire with his dressing-gown and slippers in 
it, each time when he came in; she had kept Gwen 
out of the family sitting-room when she wanted to 
romp, but she didn’t know anyone had noticed she 
was trying to help bear the sorrow. 


180 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“ril go down to the station and telegraph to the 
hospital director at St. Louis to let us know when 
Will arrives there, if he does, and tell us of his con- 
dition," said the doctor, getting his hat and cane. 
‘‘You’ll stay here to night — yes, do; ” as Aunt Polly 
came near objecting, ‘‘then you can get the news at 
once. " 

‘‘Pll go home and see to things,” said Floy, ‘‘and 
then stay — come back here for news." She started to 
say, ‘‘stay at father’s all night," but she remembered 
that father Morris did not allow her to mention Will, 
and she must talk of Will to-night. 


CHAPTER XIV 


AT THE HOSPITAL 

As Floy left the room she caught a look in Mrs. 
Osborne’s dear, kind face, that made her throw her 
arms about her neck and kiss her impetuously, saying: 

“Bless your dear heart! I’m so sorry for you, though 
I don’t know how to say it.” 

Then she turned to go quickly to hide the tears, that 
would come, in spite of her determination not to break 
down any more. 

‘T must not show my grief in my face; that adds 
more to what each of you are bearing,” said Mrs. Os- 
borne. "Heart-strings all o’er this land are being 
snapped by this fearful struggle. God help us bear our 
part! Other hearts than ours are bleeding; think, five 
thousand, the message said, on the Union side; and 
that a comparatively small number to the loss on the 
Confederate side. Think of the weeping, back of those 
figures, in both North and South! Think of the throb- 
bing hearts and aching heads in the homes left deso- 
late! Thank God, Harry is spared us still, and we’ll 
meet dear Clay by and by! ” 

The doctor was heard returning with a telegram. 

"I met the office-boy at the gate,” he said, tearing 
the envelope hastily, while they all gathered round. 

181 


182 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“U. S. Hospital, St. Louis, Mo., Ward M. 

“I am here in Lois’ ward, doing fine; can be home 
in two or three weeks. Will Morris.” 

"Coming home!" cried Floy, gladly, her feelings 
revolutionized at once. 

Grace’s heart gave a great bound and catching Gwen, 
she hugged her tight, whispering: 

"Baby, papa is coming soon!” but stopped with a 
sigh as she thought of that other one who would never 
come home. 

"Yes; cornin’ home — all that is left of the dear boy,” 
said Aunt Polly. 

"But we’ll nurse him back to good health and spirits," 
said Grace quickly. "Oh, Pm so glad, we’ll get him 
so soon! ” 

"Wasn’t it lucky he found Lois?” said Floy. "I 
know he was glad to see a familiar face at such a time. ” 

"Dear Lois,” said Mrs. Osborne, "we will all love 
her more than ever now. ” 

"She made such a sacrifice to go; you know that was 
her last year at school; but oh. Pm glad she is with 
Will!” said Floy. 

"Do you think he could come home in two weeks, 
father?" asked Grace anxiously, "if ’twas as bad as 
Harry feared?” 

"Perhaps he might. I guess I’ll run down and come 
up with him. Will go as soon as I can arrange it. 
Let me see — you’ll stay here with mother, Grace, or 
all of you, would be better company. ” 

"We’ll take mother up to Elm Cottage,” said Grace. 
"You know I want Will to come to his own home; but 
we’ll take good care of mother. ’Twill be so kind if 


DEBTOR y4ND CREDITOR 


183 


you’ll go! You could really help Will better than any 
of us.” 

“That’s so; and better’n a strange doctor,” said 
Aunt Polly. “How glad he’d be to have you, he alius 
took such stock in you!” 

“Yes, Harrison, you’d be the best kind of medicine 
and you’d know what to do,” said Mrs. Osborne. 
“We’ll get along here,” answering gratefully his solic- 
itous look at her; for the doctor’s loving care and 
gallantry were not lost on his wife, who appreciated 
the little acts of respect and love he always paid her 
— and was not slow to acknowledge them — but the 
special tenderness and feeling in his manner toward 
her now, was doubly dear. 

“Well, let’s see then — I could make a general round 
to-morrow and leave my patients with Dr. Sampson;' 
he’s careful, and will follow directions. I’ll go to the 
office now and send Will a message. Poor boy.” 

“No, no, my danpa do and get the baby tandy! ” 
said baby Gwen, shaking her blonde curls. “No, no, 
my danpa leave datten baby!” 

“Grandpa is going to tell papa to come home to 
Baby Gwen,” said the doctor, never in too much of a 
hurry to talk to the little one. 

“I kiss my papa!” only instead of saying the word 
‘kiss’ she puckered up her baby mouth and made the 
sound. 

Grandma Osborne caught her in her arms, saying: 

“Dear little pet! what would we do if it were not for 
you to make sunshine in the dark? You’ll do more to 
make your papa well than all the medicine, or even 
Grace’s nursing, can do.” 


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IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“I wonder how he’ll see her first! I hope she won’t 
be afraid of him,” said Floy. “We’ll know he’s com- 
ing and have her expecting him." 

“I’m very anxious to see them together,” said Grace. 
“But we must not plan too fast; he may not be 
ready to come before several weeks. Send some cheery 
news, father. ” 

“Hold on! ” said the doctor, stopping at the words. 
“You write the message, Grace; ’twill make him well 
a week sooner, at least.” 

Then Grace wrote the' message — that Will read over 
and over — saying that the doctor would start at once 
and that the rest were waiting his coming. 

The doctor took the message, and the cottage folks 
got ready to go home; for all decided to go now. 

T think I’d better go by and see Mrs. Wells; ’twill 
take but a short time, and I can be through before 
dark. Poor woman! ’Tis a hard fate to be in one of 
those Southern prisons, if they are what they are rep- 
resented to be,” and Grace shuddered as she recalled 
the picture of want, filth, and misery she had obtained 
from a sketch of Andersonville she had read recently. 

“I’ll go by with you,” said Aunt Polly. “If we can’t 
do anything to help her, we can, at least, show we are 
sorry. Floy, you wheel Gwen up home and make a 
fire. ” 

“I’ll do that same, mum," said Floy, with a quick 
bow. “An ’faith, an’ I’ll make yees a cup of tae afther 
yer long exhaustin’ walk. Come, Gwen, go ‘bye-bye’ 
with Aunt Floy." And off they went, after Gwen had 
kissed her grandma “night,” Gwen jerking an imaginary 
line and calling, “ge’ up, team,” “ho, team!” 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


185 


But after they were fairly started, Floy let the little 
expressions of glee go unnoticed; for she was quite 
absorbed in the thoughts that chased each other pelh- 
mell through her usually orderly brain. 

Harry’s letter rang in her ears; his piteous, “what 
shall I do withouL Clay?” brought the hot tears to her 
eyes. All alone! A mere boy, even if he was brave, 
true and loyal as any man. 

"What if he would never come back again?” she 
thought. “But he must!” and her cheeks burned scar- 
let, on meeting Guy Harrington just then, as if she 
feared he might have heard the thought. 

He turned, and walked with her for a block; for she 
and Guy were quite good friends. They were both 
members of the Senior Class, leaders of it; so they 
knew each other well. They had had a common in- 
terest in the war-news, too, for Guy’s two uncles, John 
and Roy Clayton, were in the army, and Guy was Har- 
ry’s best friend. 

Very pretty, Floy looked that evening, in her neat 
black merino, “made from her mother’s old one,” as 
she had told the school-girls, with her red jacket and 
fur cap. Guy noticed the tasteful combination and the 
attractive face adorning the costume; for, though Floy 
claimed she hadn’t one beautiful feature, hers was a 
face one would notice and study, so bright and speak* 
ing. Now the big gray eyes shone and looked won* 
drous deep and pathetic as they talked over the news 
of the battle, and Guy eulogized Harry and his exploits 
— his favorite theme. 

T’m so sorry for Will,” said Guy as they reached 
the corner. “Uncle Roy wrote he was the bravest sol- 


186 


miAT IT COST; OR 


dier and the best man in the company and well deserved 
being at the head of it; and that they would follow 
him to the very mouth of the cannon. How sad his 
home-coming will be, in spite of the welcome you’ll 
all give him! Sa}^, I want to help you get ready for 
him, if you’ve anything you need someone to do. I 
meant to have told Grace but I forgot it. I wish I 
might be of some help.” 

“Thank you, Guy,” said Floy. “Don’t suppose 
there’ll be anything we can’t do in two or three weeks. 
My! I can hardly wait! But we thank you just the same. ” 

“Well, I’m off to write to Harry. Good-bye!” 

“I’m going to write to Harry, too,” thought Floy. 
“He’s so heart-broken now, all his school-friends 
should write to him, and dear brother Will, poor darling 
Will, suffering such pain in the hospital!” and her half- 
stifled sobs made Gwen look round with: 

“My Foy ky! me hut my Foy? — poor Foy!” 

“Oh, if Will could just come home in the old happy 
way! — be well and strong, and be welcomed at our 
old home! Doctor Osborne’s presence at the hospital 
will make all the difference in the world, though, in 
bringing him home quickly.” Then quickening her 
gait she soon reached Elm Cottage. 

When it was known that Dr. Osborne was going down 
to Will, cups of choice jellies, and delicacies of all 
sorts came pouring in; until the doctor declared it 
would take Will a year to eat the lot, and he would 
have to charter a car, if he attempted to take it with 
him. But, from the assortment. Aunt Polly selected 
a valise full of knickknacks she thought might go, 
saying: 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


187 


“If Will can’t eat it all, there’s many a poor fellow 
there that can help him.” 

So the doctor set off, with his pockets full of letters 
and his valise full of goodies. 

The late-afternoon sun shone through the latticed 
windows of Ward M, in the St. Louis Hospital, where, 
on thirt}^ white cots, were seen thirty white faces ; some 
worn and haggard, some with burning cheeks and star- 
ing eyes; others waiting, with restless impatience, the 
return of strength that they might go to their homes 
and be nursed back to health by loving wives, mothers 
and sisters. 

Moving among them from cot to cot, with soothing 
words and helping hands, see this sweet- faced girl in 
dark-brown dress and blue ribbons. ’Tis the gay, 
sprightly Lois; but changed by the sight of suffering 
and sorrow into a more subdued, womanly creature — 
thoughtful and helpful, a blessing in that place where 
real beauty in character shines brightest. 

“Lois, what time is it, please?” asked a voice near 
a window, where, propped up by the pillow, sat a man 
with the decided face and keen gray eyes of Wm. 
Morris. 

“Only ten minutes after two, Mr. Morris, and the 
train won’t be due until three,” said Lois, coming 
quickly to the sick man’s side. “And you must not be 
too sure that Dr. Osborne will come by this, train; 
something might have delayed his starting.” 

“O no! What did the message from Grace say?” 
with some impatience in the tone. “That he would 
start the thirtieth, and that was yesterday. He’ll come 


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when that train comes; and oh, he’ll be straight from 
my Grace and baby! When did you say you were last 
at home, Lois?” 

“In June,” she replied, her hands tearing fresh band- 
ages and rolling them into neat rolls; “Baby Gwen 
was but eighteen months old then, but she was putting 
words together and talking, ma says, so cunningl}^ 
She would say, ‘Me a minny! Me a minny,’ when 
she saw something she wanted; or, ‘I pank my dogie! ’ 
which she would do with vigor. But you must be 
very quiet now and keep down all excitement or the 
doctor will not be allowed to see you. " 

Then she went to another cot where a little boy lay 
in high fever; he was the drummer boy of the 24th, 
N. Y., brought after the same battle “above the 
clouds,” as Will Morris and Col. Lockridge. She 
pitied him so; such a mere boy, with clusters of 
brown curls which the physicians said must be cut off 
to-morrow if the fever didn’t go down. The hot head, 
tossing restlessly from side to side, grew quiet as she 
bathed it, and the parched lips whispered : 

“That’s right, mother! you always knew just what to 
do for a fellow, and I was most roasted!" 

. “Poor boy! How your mother would weep bitter 
tears if she knew, “ murmured Lois, fora year’s experi- 
ence in the hospital had rendered the sight of suffer- 
ing familiar to her, but none the less touching; and 
now, as keenly as when she first looked on the ward 
of sufferers who were to her heroes as well as sufferers, 
her sympathies were aroused. New patients came from 
day to day, and in many, to whom she gave the care 
a daughter or sister might, she had become especially 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


189 


interested. But she had always watched for a familiar 
face, dreading lest she should see it; and one day her 
own features had paled when Will Morris had been 
carried into her ward ! 

How her heart ached for Grace! But in response to 
her pitying face and words, he had replied with a smile, 
though the signs of pain he could not conceal: 

"’Tis an honorable discharge from duty, Lois. I 
will get to see m}^ Baby Gwen now, perhaps, before 
going back to service.” 

Col. Lockridge was among those brought into Lois’ 
ward, and by Will’s request he was given an adjoining 
cot. 

Together they had read the account of the battle of 
Chattanooga — knew how the victory was won which 
had cost them so dearly. When Lois left them now 
they reverted to the subject again, despite her injunc- 
tion of quiet. 

“That grand idea of charging the whole line was a 
master- thought, ” said Will, his pallid face lighting up 
with enthusiasm. "That was a grand move — Gen. 
Grant won his laurels by it!” 

“And he’ll wear them, too,” replied Col. Lockridge. 

“That’s so!” came from several cots in the neighbor- 
hood. 

“It must have been a terribly magnificent sight! 
But many a fine fellow fell ere the rifle-pits were 
gained,” said the colonel. “But thank God, the field 
was won; for the price of defeat would have been the 
same or greater, with nothing to soften the blow!” 

“Yes; I almost dread to meet Father Osborne, I 
know he will feel the loss of his son so keenly. But 


190 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


he will never regret that he went at his country's call; 
for the grand old man was determined to go himself at 
first, but finally remained at home. Both his sons 
went. Clay, the one killed, was but twenty and the other 
but fifteen. Dr. Osborne will be reconciled to Clay’s 
noble death, though he’ll feel the loss keenly. - 

“Osborne?” repeated a man near by, “was the other 
Harry Osborne, a blue-eyed boy?” 

“Yes; that’s Harry! Where did you see him?” 
asked Will, interested, for Harry was his pride. 

“At Champion Hill, or rather defending some supply 
wagons on the morning afterward. I’ll be hanged, if 
he didn’t lay it across any man there. The rebs were 
five to one, but he fought like a young tiger!” 

“The boy showed his pluck there, I guess; you were 
in a fix,” said Will. 

“Yes; we’d have had to surrender and be now starv- 
ing in Andersonville if that boy hadn’t rallied us. He 
deserved a promotion for his service there. What did 
they do with him?” 

“He’s still in the ranks. But Gen. Grant came in 
person and gave him the tattered flag, and Gen. T — 
gave him a gold medal with the date of the skirmish 
upon it. That pleased Harry better than a command. 
He won’t be eighteen until spring.” 

Lois came back now with a glad look on her face 
which made Will start and rise excitedly, while he 
asked : 

“Has he come? Is the train in?” 

“Yes, to the last question; and for the other, watch 
the door. ” 

He did look expectantly, nor had he long to wait 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


191 


until Dr. Ackton, one of the hospital surgeons, entered 
followed by a portly gentleman in black, with a good- 
natured, helpful face, full of sympathy now as he 
glanced around the ward. His eyes met Will’s in a 
moment and the face was a mixture of pleasure, regret, 
pride and sorrow. And before the surgeon had said, 
’’Miss Lois, is an officer named Capt. Wm. Morris 
here?” Doctor Osborne stood beside the couch of 
him who had always seemed to him the embodiment 
of physical strength and manly courage. In his expe- 
rience as a physician and surgeon, the sight of pain 
and death were not unfamiliar to him, but at this pict- 
ure of wounded and dying gray-haired fathers, strong 
men of middle age, and plucky boys — and knowing 
what brought them here — his great heart beat its fast- 
est tattoo, but ’twas a martial air. 

‘‘Will, my poor dear boy. I’m sorry to find you thus,” 
and he grasped heartily the left hand, while his own 
hand trembled with suppressed emotion. 

“Most of me is here, father — and the flag still floats,” 
was the ringing reply which made many a pale face 
light up. ‘‘You have given more than I, father,” think- 
ing of the brave, gallant boy who would never return 
even with loss of limb. ‘‘I’m so sorry for you, and 
with you! ” 

“Bless you, my boy;” the usually firm voice quiver- 
ing. “It was a hard blow to us, while, in a general 
way, we feared the worst, knowing it was one of the 
chances of war; yet we felt it, like a blow, when it 
actually came home to us." 

Lois had been standing a little apart, feeling that it 
would be intrusion to break in upon that first meeting; 


193 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


now she came forward with both hands extended and 
a bright smile, in spite of the sad pitying look in the 
brown eyes. 

“Dr. Osborne, you’re not going to slight me?” 

“Slight you? No, indeed, my dear girl,” he said, 
quickly taking both the hands in his — the hands that 
had ministered to so many suffering and helpless men 
— and gazing kindly into the upturned face. '‘I’m 
glad to see our brave little woman looking so bright 
and happy. Your face has good deeds written all over 
it. Your mother sends lots of loving messages to you, 
which I will tell you about as I recall them; and your 
father sends a letter to his ‘soldier-girl,’ as he appro- 
priately calls you.” 

“He sometimes calls me that in his letters. It 
does me lots of good, for it reminds me that my com- 
ing here pleased him. You know he had no sons to 
go into the ranks, ” said Lois, brushing a tear that 
glistened for a moment on her eyelashes. “I’m glad I 
came. ” 

“So am I," said Will, fervently. 

“So am 1,” and "so are we all,” came from various 
cots down the ward. 

Lois stopped, in pleased confusion, at the unex- 
pected praise, and the old doctor laughed his congrat- 
ulations. 

“Here’s a budget of letters. Will,” said Dr. Osborne, 
“and a valise full of knickknacks; which will you have 
first?” 

“The letters — Grace’s letter, please,” said Will, 
eagerly selecting it from the bunch of letters and notes 
of sympathy that people would insist upon sending. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


193 


“She sees the bright side to even this,” said he, fold- 
ing it caressingly. “Oh, I’m so anxious to see her and 
my darling little baby. Pll get well soon when I reach 
home. Do you think I can enter service again by the 
New Year, doctor?” 

The doctor looked surprised. 

“It strikes me you’ve had enough of it. I’ve been 
thinking you could take care of all our folks and I’d 
go myself this time. But there^s time enough to think 
of that. Now, sir, you are to keep quiet, think of 
Baby Gwen, and the romp youMl have, and get on your 
pegs.” 

While, in the week that followed, the doctor made 
Will his special care, many a poor sufferer shared his 
time and help, and blessed his coming. Col. Lock- 
ridge, Will and he had many good talks, and confidences 
were exchanged about their homes and personal affairs. 
The colonel’s family was a large one and he loved to 
talk of his two black-eyed boys — one ten, the other 
three — and his four girls, two between and two older 
than the boys, so that each of them claimed he had 
two sisers to take care of him. 

Col. Lockndge was practicing law in Evanston at 
the time of his enlistment in the spring of ’62. A 
home letter came to him while he was at the hospital 
and he had Lois, Will and the doctor hear it. 

A new link to their friendship resulted from this 
admittance behind the curtains a man draws around 
the affairs of his own home-life to keep out the rude 
gaze of strangers; and when the colonel was able to 
leave the hospital a few days before Will could travel, 
it was with a genuine regret that their intimacy, formed 


194 


IVH/iT IT COST; OR 


under such impressive circumstances and extended into 
real friendship, should end so soon. 

In parting, Wiil held the hand that had bound up 
his wound on that night when he lay helpless, and 
said, earnestly: 

“Col. Lockridge, you’re a man after my own heart. 
I admire your make-up, besides I owe you a debt 
which words can not repay — “ 

“Tut, tut, Morris, don’t mention that again! That 
was nothing, as I’ve told you before, when you would 
heap thanks upon me. ’Twas nothing to tie a hand- 
kerchief above a cut; any human being would have 
done it, particularly as it was not my own bandanna. 
I’m debtor to you for knickknacks and social enter- 
tainment; indeed, Morris, if there’s a balance in our 
account it's in your favor.’ 

“No, no. I’m the debtor," said Will. “If I can 
ever serve you in any way, command me; ’twould give 
me real pleasure. And let me hear from you, some- 
times. You will return to the service?” 

The colonel nodded assent. 

“So shall I,” continued Will. ’Then, may you be 
kept safe and sound to join m the shout of victory!" 

“Amen!” said the colonel. “Good-bye — God bless 
you! Trust Him, Morris, as your personal friend, 
tried and true, in battle or in peace.'* 

One more friendly grip, a hasty good-bye to the boys 
in that corner, then he sought the faithful Lois at lit- 
tle Charlie’s bedside where she spent most of her spare 
time. 

‘ Lois, little soldier-girl, good-bye," he said, “3^011 
are doing a noble work here; I shall tell my girls 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


195 


about you. I shall never forget the little woman who 
nursed me and all of these poor fellows when most 
comfort was needed. Crying? You^re working too 
hard, Lois, you must go home with Capt. Morris, as 
your father wrote you, and rest awhile.” 

“It is not that Pm so tired, but that I can’t do more 
to relieve the suffering and sorrow about me. I wish 
I could do more; that would rest me! But no; in 
cases where I would help, I can only pity. May be I 
will go home, awhile, with Mr. Morris; I can’t tell 
yet,” looking regretfully at Charley, whose eyes were 
closed as if in sleep, but she saw his lips quiver and 
a tear sparkle on his lids. Col. Lockridge saw it, too, 
and sighed; then said: 

"Go soon, at any rate, and now good-bye, little 
helper. Will you take a small keepsake to remind you, 
when peace is restored, that your work was appreci- 
ated?” He took a lady’s locket from his pocket and 
dropped it into her hand. "I bought it for my own 
daughter’s birthday on Christmas, but I will get her 
another. ” 

Her eyes were brim-full now and so was her heart; 
so she could scarcely say: “I thank you,” before he 
was gone. On the inside was a slip on which he had 
written: 

“A token of the debt of gratitude a wounded soldier 
would pay to the loyal, patient woman who helped 
him when help was most needed. 

“U. S. Hospital, Ward M., St. Louis.” 

A low sob attracted her attention, and turning, she 
saw Charlie, crying now, and the pale death-like look 
smote her. 


196 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


"Charlie, what’s the matter? you must not cry, dear." 

"I can’t keep it back any longer! Oh, why are you 
going away? What will I do without you- -die here all 
alone! you’ve been so kind and good, mother couldn’ t 
have been better, but oh — ! ’’ And the sentence ended 
in a piteous sob. 

"Poor Charlie!,’’ she said, as she stroked his hair 
tenderly; "I won’t go if you don’t want me to. But 
now you must be very quiet or you will get worse." 

"I don’t want to be selfish and mean — but I will 
never get well — don’t shake your head, you know it, 
and the doctor knows it; I can see it in your faces. 
But oh! how can I die all alone, so far from home, 
and you gone away — ’’ 

"Charlie, I will stay right here, I don’t care much 
about going, anyway. I can go later just as well." 

"Won’t you feel disappointed?” queried he, his eyes 
full on her face. 

"Not a bit. Now go to sleep, while I fan you." The 
satisfied smile that came over the wan face paid her a 
thousand times for any pang the first thought of post- 
poning her visit cost her. 

Two days later. Will Morris left for home with Dr. 
Osborne. In his glad face and excited manner, Lois 
read something of what the word "home” meant, after 
the battle and camp-scenes so fresh in his memor}'. 
With a mite of regret her eyes follow them after they 
had bidden her God-speed in her work of mercy. Lois 
Miller had reached a high place in their opinions; 
they had known her as a merry laughing girl, full of 
pranks and one who loved the sunshine of life and 
nature; here a new side to her character was revealed, 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


197 


and they found her, in all a woman^s tenderness, pity- 
ing the wounded, caring for the dying, like an angel of 
mercy; nor was the nerve to stand trying scenes want- 
ing. Many times she had assisted the surgeons when 
needed, only a pale shadow on her face showing that 
the scene was painful to witness. 

“I shall take a good report to your father and 
mother, Lois,” the old doctor had said at starting; 
"they’ll be proud of their ‘soldier-girl,’ and they have 
cause to be, and the reason for which she stays away 
will please them. Bless you!” 

She kept repeating the words to herself as she left 
the window, after waving the last good-bye. 

Charlie was delirious that afternoon and his fever 
was high; the doctor shook his head ominously, when 
he saw him. 

“Not long for this world. Miss Lois,” he said, and 
Lois’ tears fell as he called for “mother,” and talked of 
the hills and trees, where he thought he was once 
again chasing rabbits. He had told her so much of 
his mother in her checked apron and white cap, of his 
gray-haired father and married sisters, that it seemed 
she knew them, too; and she sighed to think how sad 
they’d feel when they knew their truant boy would 
never return. For Charlie had gone into the army 
against their wishes, and was now but fifteen, a slight 
frail lad. Poor Charlie! Life had been so short. 

Next morning a hard, pinched look on the sweet 
young face told that the doctor was right, and Lois 
shuddered as she chafed the small icy hands. 

At noon when the omnibus came she was standing 
near the window. Several wounded men were helped 


lOS 


IVH/IT IT COST; OR 


into the house and — what was it that made her start and 
tremble so violently? was it — ? Yes; that unconscious 
one brought in, like a dead man, was John Edwards! 

’Twas the face in search of which she had been 
scanning that of each arrival since her coming there, 
dreading lest she should see it, and the sight drove 
every bit of color from her own. For a moment she 
reeled against the window-casing, then with strong 
reaction got to the hall as they passed her door. 

“Dr. Acton, bring him in here, please; ’tis an old 
friend of mine.’’ 

“Certainly, Miss Lois,’’ and he looked kindly at the 
startled face, usually so calm. 

“Don’t be frightened, Miss Lois, the case is not 
very serious, I think,’’ he said after he had given him 
a brief but scrutinizing examination. “He has fever, 
pretty high fever, from a wound in the shoulder. A 
little operation will be necessary as the bullet is still 
in; it has been in for several days, and that caused 
the fever. But in a short time, he will be O. K. I’ll 
be back soon,’’ and he hurried away to help some one 
in agonizing pain. For a moment she could only gaze 
at John; then remembering that others were watching, 
she arranged his pillow and shaded the window near 
his cot, with a prayer in her heart for his quick recov- 
ery. 

She made it a point to be away when the doctor 
came to remove the bullet : for, strong as she had 
justly prided herself upon being, she couldn’t bear the 
sight of suffering in this man 

She hurried to Charlie’s bedside, her conscience up- 
braiding her for staying away so long; and his deathly 
pallor frightened her. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


199 


■'Oh, my poor boy! My poor Charlie," she cried; 
the sobs roused him, the great spiritual eyes looked up 
at her and read her thoughts. 

‘‘Donatory — Lois, yes — I — think — I — am — dying, but 
I’m not a bit — afraid. You’ll write to mother — it’s all 
dark — now. Let me hold your hand — tell them, I done 
my best for the old flag. Will live longer — in heaven. 
Sing, please — ^‘No sorrow there’," and Lois tried but 
broke down entirely ; a smile lighted up the wan face. 

"No sorrow" — "mother!" murmured the pale lips, 
and Charlie had gone home. 

That night Lois wrote to the aged father and mother, 
away off in their country-home, and sent the brown curl 
she had saved when the ringlets had been shorn She 
did this as she sat at the bedside of the young officer 
who had just come in at noon. The dark head tossed 
restlessly on the pillow — ever and anon he called for 
"Lois” and "mother,” mixing with them something 
about that professor , then, back with the boys in blue, 
he’d give command to the company and call the Con- 
federates hard names. 

He seemed so different from the quiet, almost stern 
John Edwards, whom she had always loved to tease; 
she blushed violently when he called "Lois” and 
coupled with the name that of her old teacher, Prof. 
Baker. She pitied him so in his feverish state; she 
had always thought him so well and strong, it didn’t 
seem possible that he could be thus. But when she 
put her hand on his hot forehead, instantly he covered 
it with his own, saying, "Keep it there; it will make 
me well,” and she kept it there, thinking how poor 
Charlie loved the same act. But she could not account 


200 


H^Hy4T IT COST; OR 


for the color that came to her own face, and her own 
increased pulsations. Next morning, when Dr. Ackton 
made his rounds, he passed Lois with: 

’’Well, your friend is mending, fever goin’ down 
already You're giving him a little extra care, eh? 
Now, look here, you spoke the other day of taking a 
lay-off for a time. Don't think of such a thing until 
this poor chap can go, too,” and the doctor chuckled 
slyly as he went on and left her. Late in the after- 
noon, she found John sleeping, a quiet restful sleep, 
and she watched him. Without-noticing it herself, 
she went on comparing his high forehead and firm 
mouth with Prof. Baker’s rolling brow and thinly chis- 
eled lips. The sleeper stirred, and a pair of calm gray 
eyes unclosed, not in feverish wildness as before, but 
with coming intelligence, and looked round at the 
whitewashed walls. 

"Where am I?” he queried, then, in glad surprise, 
"Lois, Lois!” as he glanced into the face beside him. 
He gave the little hand she slipped into his an awful 
squeeze, for an invalid, but Lois excused the presump- 
tion; for, perhaps, he was still delirious. 

Explanations followed, on each side, as to where he 
was and how he got there — John remembering that at 
the skirmish on Brier Creek, he had received a flesh- 
wound and had been put in the army omnibus; that 
was all he knew. 

"Now you must be very quiet; I’m commander here. 
I’ll get you some supper,” said Lois. 

"O no! stay by me and talk. That will do me more 
good than supper. I don’t want a mouthful.” 

‘Orders must be obeyed, instantly,” looking back a 
smiling commander, as she went. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


201 


When she returned with a plate of nicely browned 
toast, with butter and jelly for it, and a cup of coffee, 
and sat down to talk pleasantly while he ate, John 
found himself a willing subordinai-e. 

“Drink all your coffee,” she said, as he stopped to 
look at her while she told him of Will Morris’ home- 
going, Dr. Osborne’s visit, etc. "You must just rest 
and sleep now, and the doctor says you can go home 
in a few days. ” 

“No; thank you!” said John, a merry twinkle in his 
calm eyes. “I think I shall stay right here all the 
time. " 

“Indeed? Well, I’m going home on a furlough in a 
few days, perhaps; and if you've any message to send 
to your mother I’ll bring it her.” 


CHAPTER XV 


THE FURLOUGHS 

"Six o’clock,’’ chimed the clock on the corner shelf, 
as Floy came briskly into the kitchen with a pail of 
foaming milk. ’Twas Floy’s chore, each morn and 
evening, to milk Brindle and give her the half-bucket 
of nubbins in pay, but this morning she had done so 
about an hour earlier than usual, to Brindle’s apparent 
satisfaction. 

Grace had put the room "to rights’’ and set the iron 
tea-kettle to singing while she went about the break- 
fast, humming a sleighing song that she and Will used 
to sing together, in the "Auld Lang Syne.” She was 
laying plans for a busy day 

To-morrow Will was coming! At least the message 
received, the evening before, read: "Will be home by 
Thursday, perhaps,” and the glad light in the violet 
eyes spoke volumes of what that meant to her. 

"Grace,” said Floy, as she placed the last pan of 
milk in the pantry, "I believe I’ll run down to father’s 
and do his kitchen work before breakfast, since the 
mothers are both snoozing yet.” 

‘T think you’ll have time,” said Grace, who admired 
the fidelity with which Floy clung to both her homes, 
and discharged her two home-duties, never failing to 
help her arrange her time for them. 

And, indeed, she needed a set programme, for the 

203 . 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


203 


hours of daylight outside of school seemed to have 
eagle’s wings in December’s short days. 

“Don’t wait for me, if I’m late. Buckwheat cakes 
are best hot; mother thinks so anyway.” 

Then she started across the meadow, where she had 
worn quite a path; starting briskly, but falling soon 
into a slow gait, as with brow knit in perplexing 
thought, she laid her old plans over again. 

“How I am ever to broach the subject, I haven’t any 
idea,” she said half-aloud. “Pa is set as yon hill and 
chilly as an icicle, but it’s such a shame for him to turn 
a cold shoulder to his poor one-armed boy!” and a tear 
glistened in the light of the newly risen sun. “How can 
he be so hard-hearted! But I don’t believe he will be, 
when he thinks of it right, and I mean to try once 
more, if he takes my head off for it! I will have dear 
old Will treated right, if I can.” 

Floy had been trying, ever since the sad news of 
Clay’s death, and the loss of Will’s arm, to appeal to 
her father’s pity to gain his forgiveness, and bring 
about the long-wished-for reconciliation. Every even- 
ing she had planned just what she should say, but 
somehow “it wouldn’t say,” when she looked into her 
father’s stern face. So she put it off until her next 
coming. But now ’twas full time that kindlier feelings 
should be aroused, if Will’s coming was to be as wel- 
come as she hoped, with some mingled fears. 

Of course, her father knew of Will’s loss. She had 
no doubts he must have heard of it in the village store 
where he traded, or through Harvey’s family; but he 
had never betrayed the knowledge, by look or word. 

She found her father preparing his breakfast, and in 


204 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


answer to her greeting, he gave her a hearty invitation 
to breakfast with him, as he would “have ham and 
eggs. ” 

Floy accepted the invitation with alacrity, thinking 
’twould be a good time to talk; so she skimmed the 
sour milk, arranged the crocks of milk on the pantry 
shelf in the order of their respective ages, just as her 
mother had always done, then announced herself ready 
for refreshments, vowing she was ravenously hungry. 

Floy’s presence and usual buoyant spirits always 
made that deserted home wear a new face to the lone 
man, and in qui^e a jovial mood he sat down with her. 
She poured the coffee, while he served the plates with 
his old time “company manners,’’ talking so good- 
naturedly about school, the weather and their two selves, 
that Floy saw they were getting farther away every 
moment from the subject she came to talk about; and 
with a determination to “have it out’’ at once and with 
an unexpressed prayer for its good effect, she “bravely 
waded in:’’ 

“Will is coming home to-morrow,’’ she said. 

A Dakota blizzard on an August afternoon would not 
have changed the atmosphere more or quicker. 

“What’s that?’’ he demanded, in a tone which said: 
“Don’t repeat that.’’ 

“Will is coming home to-morrow,’’ she repeated, 
though looking him now full in the face; for, once 
fairly into it, her courage came up to meet the occasion, 
with the same undaunted spirit as the soldiers would 
march to the cannon’s mouth, when once thoroughly 
enthused. 

“Coming back a cripple, father — with one armless 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


205 


sleeve,” she said in a pleading tone, as she saw the 
hard lines settling about his firm mouth. "Won’t that 
plead for him, father? Won’t that open the doors 
you’ve shut against him so long?” 

“Floy, you’ve said enough on this forbidden subject.” 

He tried to speak composedly, though the tremor in 
an undertone betrayed much agitation. "I don’t want 
to hurt your feelings, child, for you’ve been a good 
daughter to me, but it ain’t no use to talk about Will 
and your m.a; Will has made his own bed and must 
lie in it. ” 

"How can you talk so, father? Oh! when I think 
how happy we all were before the trouble! How strong, 
well, and jolly Will always was; and now — oh! father 
can’t you forgive a wounded, suffering son? He does 
not come back as he went away!” 

She had left her breakfast, and was now standing at 
his side stroking his refractory hair; as if by bending 
it, she might bend the iron will also. 

A beautiful picture of sorrowful innocence, with a 
face an artist might crave for his "Queen Esther;” pale 
with earnestness; and every nerve tingling. ’Twas a 
new Floy, and old Mr. Morris admired the force she 
showed while he repelled her. 

"Don’t work yourself into a passion over what can’t 
be helped. Am I to blame that my disobedient, dis- 
respectful son got worsted in the fight? He was so 
anxious to enter the army! He was willing enough to 
risk everything to join the ranks, ’gainst his own kith 
and kin, and ’gainst my wish and voice; ’cause he was 
so headstrong, is no reason I should knuckle!” and 
the hard look in the eyes that met Floy’s pleading 


206 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


ones, told her that argument was in vain; but she 
couldn’t quite give up yet, though hope was sadly 
wavering. 

"Think, papa, what a hard, cold life you live," she 
began; but a new idea showed itself in his face. 

"Who put you up to this harangue? Has Polly sent 
vou here to get me to knuckle?" he interrupted. 

"No, sir,” and the young figure was drawn up to its 
full height and straight as an Indian. "You know she 
didn’t. I came because I pitied you; but ’tis no use; 
you’re as set in your opinions as a mountain.” 

Floy had never talked and looked like this at her 
father before; and he was much surprised, and not a 
little hurt; but that no one would ever have suspected 
from his unmoved exterior. 

"I certainly have the same right to stand up for my 
principles as th'^y for theirs; I believe in them just as 
firmly. ’Twas ungrateful and headstrong of Will, to 
go directly ’gainst my wishes. How did he respect my 
wishes? And your ma, putting more mischief in his 
head every minute! Then, just for contrariness, she 
put up that fiag on the Fourth, just to see what Pd do! 
Guess she found out!” This with a stress, almost akin 
to a chuckle. 

Floy’s temper was almost to the igniting point, and, 
not wishing to be impudent, she whistled, with an 
impatient gesture, picked up her hood and shawl and 
with a parting thrust that stung to the quick: "No 
use' to try to melt an iceberg,” she walked out indig- 
nantly. 

He watched the proud little figure setting her feet 

down with such emphasis, until hidden by the orchard 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


207 


trees, then a look of mingled sadness and resentment 
settled on his face. 

“There! Even Floy turns against me, calls me hard 
names too. Ah! well, I feared it would come! Of 
course, she’s put up to thinking Pm a brute. It^s tough 
on a young fellow to lose his arm, of course, his right 
one at that; had he listened to me ’twould never have 
happened,” and he cleared away the unfinished break- 
fast that had been commenced with such a relish and 
so pleasantly. 

Before Floy got through the orchard, the hot tears 
came crowding over the swollen lids, and when she 
reached the fence, she pillowed her head upon the top- 
most rail and sobbed violently. 

“All lost! Every hope of bringing the family to- 
gether. " She had hoped to do so much good, had 
meant to keep her own temper, at any cost ; but she 
had got downright angry, showed it, and called her 
father an iceberg. Now, the hardest part of that was 
that there was so much truth in it; but she didn’t 
care for that now, but that her plan had failed, and 
that “poor Will” must be treated so cruelly. 

“Well, ’tisn’t any use to disfigure my face o’er it 
‘What can’t be cured must be endured,’ and Pll do my 
level best to help Will not feel ‘out’ about it, but ’tis 
too bad. ” 

Breakfast was over at the cottage; Gwen was calling 
for “MyFoy, myFoy. ” The swollen eyes and nose just 
wouldn’t “cool off,” and get back to their natural pro- 
portions before she reached the cottage, despite her 
effort to rally an outward resemblance of cheerfulness. 
She wouldn’t have her mother know of the conversu^ 


208 


IVHAT IT COS T; OR 


tion just passed for anything; and Grace must be 
spared, too. The pleasure of Will’s coming must not 
be marred by this last outbreak; but she hadn’t fairly 
entered the door and answered Gwen’s exclamation of 
“There’s Foy! Morning, my Foy! ” when Aunt Polly, 
looking up from the little stocking she was toeing for 
Gwen, caught sight of the tear-stained face, which was 
now smiling, ever so unconcernedly, at Gwen. 

“What in the world is the matter, Floy? What has 
happened, child?" she said— two tl ougl'ts crossing her 
mind at the same time; first, that Aaron was sick, then 
that he’d abused Flo}^ Grace and Mrs. Osborne were 
concerned, of course, and Floy was puzzled what best 
to say. 

“Nothing much; Fve just wanted a good cry and so 
had it out and feel better, but," she added, as she saw 
Aunt Polly thought that no answer at all, “please 
don’t ask me any more," and there was such a plead- 
ing expression on her face that Grace changed the sub- 
ject at once, while Polly drew her own conclusion, 
“that time would tell. He wasn’t sick, that was sure." 

“Now, what’s the programme for to-day?" asked Floy 
as she ate the breakfast Grace had kept warm for her. 
“Shall I go to school, or is there something for me to 
do here?" 

“I think we’re ready for Will now, without anymore 
fixing," said Grace. “Baby Gwen will be decoration 
'^nough,and knickknacks too, to her papa. I can think 
of notldng else but Will and his baby meeting." 

“Won’t it be fun to see them come together?" said 
Floy, while in the mind of each, instantly, the event 
was pictured. “I hope she’ll run to meet him and call 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


209 


■‘Papa turnin’! Papa turnin’!’ like she does for her 
Grandpa Osborne.” 

‘‘Pll iron to-day, and to-morrow afternoon we’ll put 
her white embroidered dress on when we go to the train. 
I think we’ll all go, won’t we, mothers?" said Grace 
looking from one to the other, laying again the plans 
for the meeting. 

Floy soon had Gwen upon her lap, teaching her to 
say “papa’s turnin’; my papa’s turnin’ to-morrow.” 

“Polly and I are going to finish upholstering Will’s 
easy chair, ” said Mrs Osborne, getting the ruffle which 
was to make the bottom-frill she had begun to hem 
on the previous afternoon. 

This chair had a history, so ’twas interesting of it- 
self. It had been given Polly by her mother upon her 
marriage and had rocked Will to sleep when a wee 
baby, and later Floy, and all the babies who visited at 
the farm-house. Now Aunt Polly had made cotton 
pads for the back and bottom, and it was all to be 
dressed in red. Grace furnished the covering by bring- 
ing out a dark garnet dress, that Will always thought 
so becoming to Grace Osborne, and which would look 
well with the dressing-gown she had just completed 
for him. 

Floy was making the slippers that she might have a 
hand in the comforting outfit. 

“I can finish embroidering the slippers to-night, like 
a top, " said Floy, “and they look real well too, now 
that the stitches are covered up with the trimming; 
the outside puckers a little, but that will be O. K. 
when he gets his feet in them. Darling old Will! I 
can hardly ^vait for to-morrow’s train!” and she flew 


‘4 


210 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


into her dish-washing task as if that would hurry time. 

“Let’s drape a large flag in the sitting-room, o’er 
the table, like Harry did o’er the dinner table at the 
house-warming,” said Floy with a sudden halt, as the 
thought struck her. “I’ll get one down town this even- 
ing. Now I must don my wraps and off to school." 

About ten o’clock, Widow Edwards appeared in her 
black calico dress and enormous black hood. 

“No; not much use to take off my things, Grace,” 
she said in answer to Grace’s invitation. “I just run up 
a minute to talk. I know you’re all in a flurry and 
flutter about Will’s coming. Don’t I wish it was my 
boy, though I got such a dear, comforting letter from 
him last night! You knowed he took Will’s company, 
didn’t you?" They hadn’t heard of it, nor had the 
proud widow either, until last night, but the town was 
hearing of it now, fast enough, notwithstanding the. 
widow’s dislike for “bragging.” 

“Well, have you heard of the meeting at the store 
last night, and the planning to all turn out and give 
Will a rousin’ welcome?” 

Something made Grace very choky, and Aunt Polly 
wiped her spectacles many times on her apron. 

“Well, now you don’t say! That’s clever in them, 
anyway," Aunt Polly said. This demonstration on the 
part of the citizens was especially grateful to Aunt 
Polly, for she loved her children, and had been worry- 
ing lest Will would feel bad on account of his father 
treating him like a stranger. 

“Yes, they are going to do it in fine style. Judge 
Burton and Harrington are at the head of it. You see 
my Mary was inter the store while they were a-planning 


DEBTOR /IND CREDITOR 


211 


it last night. Judge Burton^ s family carriage, with 
four white horses trimmed off with flags, is to bring 
Will up from the depot; the band is to go in front in 
the band-wagon, and a hull lot more fuss. ” ^ 

“Will would rather walk up with us than to ride in 
the Jedge’s karrage, I can just tell them, now," said 
Aunt Polly. “But ’twas mighty good uv ’em to think 
uv honering my poor crippled boy.” 

Gwen who had been playing at the window, went out 
running and crying: 

“Boys a tunneren! Boys a tunneren to my house.” 

“There’s Burton’s Jimmie now,” said the widow. 

Jimmie brought a note from his father, asking if the 
ladies would accept his carriage to go down to meet 
Will, as the citizens desired to bring him home in fit- 
ting way to partly show their esteem and sympathy. 

They couldn’t do less than to accept, since it was to 
honor Will; though it seemed a little queer to Grace 
for them to go down with a “carriage and four," bor- 
rowed plumes at that; but ’twas so arranged. 

That afternoon when Grace heard the train down 
the road, the color, rich and blooming, came into her 
cheeks as she thought, “To-morrow, darling, and 
’twill bring you!" Then she pictured again his look 
of glad surprise at the attentions paid him, and won- 
dered how he would act when he first saw his baby. 
“Our baby, bless the little darling!” she said aloud, 
looking proudly at the chubby little figure now tod- 
dling down the path to the chicken-house to feed her 
“tickies," grandma having given her a pan of corn-dough 
that she might have that “fun," as Gwen called it. 

Busy with her ironing, and busier still in keeping 


212 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


her mind partly on her work, neither Grace nor the 
mother noticed that the train stopped at the crossing 
opposite Elm Cottage; they didn’t see the broad- 
shouldered young captain with one empty sleeve and 
the portly “pill-man,” who got off and made rapid 
strides toward the cottage among the elms. But they 
came just the same as if the dear women had seen 
them and been waving for them to hurry. 

The young man, though pale and far more excited 
than when he marched so steadily at the head of his 
company up Lookout Mountain and lost his arm, out- 
walked the elder one in spite of his “Don’t hurry. 
Will! *Don’t heat yourself up!” and passing the 
stable, would soon have reached the door, had he 
not spied Gwen feeding the chickens. 

All along he had dearly loved the baby, which he 
had only heard of, but the sight of the little one, sur- 
rounded by a flock of fowls, picking the feed out of 
her hand before she dropped it, caused a thrill of hap- 
piness through his whole being. 

New feelings took possession of his soul, and he 
stopped with: “The baby! Oh, my baby!" and stood 
watching her for a full minute as he thought her too 
angel-like to be touched by human hands. ’Twas a 
fine December day and her flannel dress and gingham 
apron were quite warm enough for her, so her hood 
was her only wrap. With one fat hand she scattered 
the dough, while with the other she held the pan. 
“Come tickie eatin, " called the baby voice, and Will 
could no longer resist the temptation to hold her to 
his breast. “Baby, darling Baby Gwen! ” he called 
softly, hurrying forward. “Do way man! me feed my 














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DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 213 

tickies, ” commanded she, her eyes looking great in- 
dignation for such a small body. 

’Tis your papa, little Gwen — come to . your papa, 
darling baby,’’ and he knelt beside her and covered 
her chubby face with kisses, as he had. so often, 
dreamed he was doing. 

“My papa tummin’ morrow! I tiss my papa!’’ and 
the sweet baby lips touched his cheek. Then he took 
her and started for “Grace and mother, ’’ but ere he had 
taken many steps the door was thrown open and Grace, 
with a glad cry of “Will! my darling Will!’’ bounded 
out to meet him. 

Baby Gwen was quickly put down, that he might 
put his arm around Grace. 

“Once more my darling, oh, my darling Grace! I’ve 
dreamed of this a thousand times.’’ 

“He’s come, mother, he’s come!’’ shouted Grace, but 
it was useless, for mother Morris was already rushing 
down to her boy, laughing and crying as only a loving 
old mother can do, who has worried over and hoped 
and prayed for an absent son. 

“Mother, mother darling! ’’ and he loosened his arm 
gently from Grace’s waist to clasp his old mother. 
“One at a time, you know, will last longer,’’ he tried 
to say cheerfully as they all sobbed aloud in pity. 
Mother Osborne had reached him now, and very ten- 
derly Will kissed her, thinking of her own dear boy 
whose return she would never greet. 

The doctor had lagged behind to see the meeting of 
Will and his baby, but when Gwen had been put 
down, then he hastened to get his “pet,’ who met him 
half-way with a glad “Mydeardanpa tummin’, my dear 
danpa! ” 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


214 

# 

Now he came up with the baby in his arms for his 
share of the greeting. He made a desperate effort to 
clear his throat and keep his eyes dry, but failed. 
One of the ladies was especially glad to see him. 

“Where .is Floy?” asked Will, when they had got 
him into the house and easy-chair, which still lacked 
the finishing touch. 

“At school; you see we didn’t look for you until to- 
morrow,” said Aunt Polly, hovering over the chair. 

“I’ll go down for Floy,” said the doctor, proceeding 
to execute his statement; “she’d, never torgive us if 
we allowed her to lose an hour of Will,” but he had 
only gone as far as the gate when he saw her coming, 
pell-mell down the road, her hair undone and flying 
after and around her. 

The conductor had told, at the depot, that he 
stopped to let Captain Morris and Doctor Osborne off 
at the crossing, and the news went round like wild- 
fire that the morrow’s welcoming was “busted,” as 
the depot-loungers termed it. 

Guy Harrington had been down for the mail and 
got back to school in time to tell Floy as they went 
to recitation, and she, stopping neither for permission 
to leave nor to tell the good news, grabbed Marne Ed- 
.wards’ hood — ’twas the first she came to — and ran for 
home and Will. 

The doctor teasingly put out both hands to head her 
off. He was stooping as she passed, and, so beside 
herself with joy was she that she kissed him, a won- 
derful thing for Floy to do — and then ran on cry- 
ing: “Where is he?” and stopping only with her 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


215 


arms about his neck and crying out her glad “Will, 
my darling brother; I’ve got you at last!” 

Will took the smothering hugs like a martyr, then 
held her off to read the changes: 

“My little pet sister Floy, in spite of the big dress. ’’ 

“My papa, Foy. Papa give the baby appety, Foy. 
Dood papa! ’’ said Gwen from her perch on her papa’s 
knee, but she objected to the kisses he showered upon 
her as they crowded the apple away. 

“Why didn’t you wait till to-morrow and be lion- 
ized?” asked Floy; and Grace, with the help of the 
others, told of the preparations. 

“Now that was clever,” said the doctor; “there was 
some sense to plans like that.” 

“Yes,” put in Floy; “but you’ve come now, so ’tis 
dove’iS labor lost.” 

Said Will: “I’m glad we avoided the crowd. That 
was one reason we got off at the crossing; another was, 
I couldn’t wait. I’ve got just the crowd I want to- 
night,” he went on, looking from one dear face to an- 
other. ’Twas a “real feast for his eyes,” he said. 

What a good comforting supper Aunt Polly and 
Grace did prepare, while the others visited with Will! 
— Floy’s tongue running like a bell-clapper, in spite 
of her efforts to let some of the others do part of the 
talking, and Will play with Gwen. She was finishing 
the slippers now even if Will did see 'her do it. 

Grace’s biscuits, made of cream and butter, tasted 
delicious to dne used to “hard tack," and Aunt Polly’s 
plum-pudding. Will declared, had its old-time taste; 
he’d “know it at the Metropolitan in New York City.” 

“Halloo! what’s that?" asked Will, later, as they 


216 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


ciil sat around the grate eating nuts and apples — Grace 
resuming her favorite office of picking out kernels for 
Will and Gwen, while Floy and the doctor cracked 
them. 

“Music, certain. No guerrilla in that! you are being 
waited upon by the Mapleton Cornet Band, Captain 
Morris,” said Floy with a sweeping courtesy; “they 
know just how to do the honors in the North.” 

“Bless the boys!” said Will huskily; “why, what are 
they playing?” for the band and crowd had now 
reached the gate, and were playing “Rally round the 
dag, boys,” with a vim that sounded like the genuine 
article. Will said, when they were acting it out on a 
grand charge. 

“Good, good!" cried the doctor, with tears in his 
eyes, but with a bright smile spreading o’er hi^ face. 
“That’s a deserved tribute. Will; John Edwards 
wrote home of you starting that tune once at the nick of 
time!" and he grasped his left hand in real enthusiasm. 

Will was more affected than he allowed them to 
know. They finished playing at the gate, then sur- 
rounded the house and sang “Home, sweet Home” with 
variations; at least there were various voices, from 
that of the small boy to the dignified Judge Burton, 
and variations in time, too; then the cries of “Cap- 
tain Morris! Captain Morris!” became a clamor. Will 
came out on the porch with Grace at his side and 
Baby Gwen on his arm, his lips quivering more now 
than at sight of the Confederate lines ;* though now, 
as then, his gray eyes shone, reflecting the burning 
passion within, but ’twas a kindlier flame and gave a 
more welcome light. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


317 


Judge Burton, prominent in his “stove-pipe hat,” 
which always had worried Aunt Poll}^ before this time, 
seeming “stuck up,” gave the word for the cheers; 
and there went up a deafening chorus for Captain 
Morris, followed by a loud hurrah for Baby Gwen. 
Will bowed his thanks, and motioned Doctor Osborne, 
who had stepped out with the crowd and helped with 
the cheering, to respond for him; but the cries of 
‘Morris!” “Morris!” “Captain Morris!” rang so urgent- 
ly, that he gave Baby Gwen to Grace, stepped out and 
in a clear voice,, so well remembered by all, said: 

“Members of the band, old friends and neighbors, 
your kindly welcome touches my tenderest feelings. 
Home, sweet home, to-night, seems dearer than ever. 
Its associations, its peace, and the Union which se- 
cures this peace, are worth fighting for — worth dying 
for, if need be. Now three cheers for the red, white 
and blue — may she ever float over a people loyal and 
true. ” 

When they had been given, the doctor took his pa- 
tient in, allowing only a hand-shaking with two or 
three of the nearest ones, and the crowd, feeling in 
exuberant spirits after giving vent to some of their 
pent-up enthusiasm, dispersed, as did the inmates of 
Elm Cottage, to their bed-rooms. 

With the tender delicacy which is fully appreciated, 
no one referred to the lost limb; but next morning 
when Will was alone with his baby playing “trot 
horse” and “pattycake” to her intense delight, sud- 
denly she stopped, and with eyes full of wonder, 
looked at the empty sleeve: 

“Where’s my papa’s handen? Put your handen iu. 


218 


IVH/tT IT COST; OR 


your tocotan, papa." The picture that greeted Grace’s 
eyes as she came in was too much; Will’s sad far 
away look, and the puzzled, troubled face of little 
Gwen, was more than she could face, and she beat a 
hasty retreat to the pantry, where she and Aunt Polly 
had a good cry over the affecting scene. 

d'he three at Elm Cottage vied with each other in 
their attentions to Will, who declared ’twas "fine to 
be sick and petted in such a style. ” 

Two days before Christmas, Floy came bounding in 
from school and it was evident that something was 
"up." 

"Guess what?" but without giving time for them to 
"guess what," she cried: "Lois Miller and John Ed- 
wards are coming to-morrow. " 

"John Edwards!" repeated Will; "well, how came 
that? He must have been wounded and not reported; 
lie has evidently been at the hospital. " 

"I see now the reason Lois hasn’t been home sooner, 
clear as the nose on your face," decided Aunt Polly; 
"she’s been waiting on him. That’ll make a match, 
mark my words!" 

"’Twould make a good one, I think," said Grace, 
but Floy was there, so they asked: "Any news in 
regard to whether he was hurt badly or not?" 

"Not a word, except a message to Mrs. Edwards, in 
care of Rev. Miller, which said, ‘Will be up on the 
24th to spend Christmas; Lois Miller will come too., 

"John Edwards." 

"I saw the ’gram. Marne and I were at the office. 
Yes; your father got a letter from Harry." (She might 
have added, "So did I — a jolly one.") ‘He’s O. K. in 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


219 


camp. The Osbornes are coming up to spend the 
evening. ” 

“I must go down to the station to meet John to- 
morrow,” said Will, who had been down town just 
once since he came home. 

‘‘We’ll all go down,” said Grace, ‘‘won’t we, mother?” 

‘‘Oh, they’re planning a big time,” said Floy. “Doc- 
tor Osborne’s at the head of it. I heard him say: 
‘We’ll just give it to him hard; he’s been hard on the 
rebs; and we’ll remember Lois too, for a finer, nobler 
girl never lived.’ Prof. Baker, coming up with us 
school-girls, said: ‘Very self-sacrificing, very;’ but he 
looked vexed that her name was linked with John’s." 

When the train came in, next day, Sarah Edwards 
stood at the head of a mammoth crowd, which satisfied 
her completely, for that morning the widow had shed 
some bitter tears. 

“S’ posed her boy warn’t as good as old Aaron Mor- 
ris’,” she grumbled; “the hull town was on their ear 
when they heard he was a cornin’, and now everybody 
was a pokin’ around like nothing was the. matter.” 
Marne let her talk, wearing a sly smile sometimes, 
knowing the surprise would be all the sweeter. 

As the train came round the curve the band struck - 
up, “When Johnnie comes marching home again;” and 
when it had stopped, the hurrahs which were given 
would have satisfied the most sanguine; but Mrs. Ed- 
wards scarcely heard them, for she had caught the 
manly form in blue, who came bounding toward her, 
in her arms, and could only hear his “Mother! mother! 
Dear little sister Marne!” 

Rev. Miller had caught sight of the little figure in 


220 


IVH/ir IT COST; OR 


brown, which preceded the blue, on the platform, and 
with an agility which might have been envied by a 
school-boy, gathered her in his arms; a sweet-faced 
lady, with many silver threads visible beneath the 
neat black bonnet she wore, was close at his side. 

"What do they make such a noise over me for?” 
said Lois laughingly, to Floy and the group of friends 
that surrounded her; "I haven’t been in the ranks. I 
am no soldier.” 

"Doing a work just as necessary though. Miss 
Lois, and, doing it grandly, too — bravely as ever sol- 
dier faced his country’s foes!” said Will Morris, join- 
ing the group with John Edwards, who added with a 
fervor, which Prof. Baker thought unnecessary, "As 
every soldier who ever left' Ward M will testify.” 

“How is this, Lieutenant Edwards?” asked Doctor 
Osborne with a sober face, but a side glance that told 
the crowd a joke was brewing; "were you wounded 
before you went to the hospital, or after you reached Ward 
Mf" The laugh that followed disconcerted John for a 
moment, but he rallied and faced the cannonade with : 

"Both, doctor, and have come home for medical 
advice; would like a private consultation.” None 
laughed more heartily than the doctor, who said he’d 
watch the case carefully for awhile. Everybody 
seemed ready to laugh at anything, but Prof. Baker, who 
preserved his dignity, and was now telling Lois how 
glad he was that she had come up in time for the senior- 
class entertainment at the hall New Year’s eve. But 
he didn’t get to say he would call for her, for Floy in- 
terrupted him, and Lois gave her a grateful look as 
she turned to Mrs. Edwards with: 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


221 


*'Take your boy home- at once and have him rest; 
see how excitedly he’s shaking hands with that crowd.” 
The suggestion was a good one and the crowd scat- 
tered. 

Lois took her mother’s arm and followed her father, 
who was elbowing a way for them. 

'T am coming for you up to Morris’ to-morrow even- 
ing, so you just have that dictionary out of the way," 
said John as they passed him. 

“Are you? but I need my dictionary, to interpret 
your big words,” answered Lois with a sly, puzzled 
look. 

“Orders must be obeyed,” quoted he. 

“Certainly, lieutenant," making a motion to remove 
her hat. 

In two homes in Mapleton the sunny side of the 
earth seemed to be in full view. “Sally” Edwards was 
known to turn off more work in the same space of 
time than any two common women, but that evening, 
supper wouldn’t get ready quick, though everything 
had been prepared before train-time. 

Marne laughed outright to see her mother flying from 
the kitchen to the best room, coffee-pot in hand, com- 
ing back without it, to search the kitchen over for it, 
declaring, “Marne was too careless for nothing.” 

But John enjoyed the attentions hugely, stretched 
out on his mother’s best bed, and getting posted on the 
happenings of the last three years. 

At the parsonage, Lpis went through everything, 
saw and petted all the chickens, the cat and the dog. 


222 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


talking all the while so fast as to be unintelligible; but 
they knew what she said was all right, and enjoyed 
her clatter immensely, for the house had seemed so 
lonely without her. 


CHAPTER XVI 


' SOMETHING HAPPENS 

"Hurrah! It snowed last night and is as clear as a 
crystal now!" cried Floy in great glee, as she peered 
out of her bedroom window on the morning before 
New Year’s. 

"Well, it aint no use raising the neighbors if it did," 
said Aunt Polly, tucking the covers round her shoul- 
ders at the mention of the snow. 

"But come now, ma, you must allow me to enthuse 
a little over the fine prospect for our class-festival. 
Think what running round — begging cakes and sich, 
we’ve done! But ’twill pay now — goody, goody!" 
and she jerked on both shoes in half the usual time. 
“Sleighing will be the thing to bring folks from the 
country, and Guy and Fred went out to four school- 
houses yesterday to announce it. " 

The propriety of having a festival at this time of 
suspense and anxiety, had been a question of much 
moment at the cottage, and indeed throughout the 
village. The class of ’64 were giving it, that the funds 
raised might defray the expenses of commencement in 
June. They were ambitious to have everything in 
good shape, and the cost would be quite an item. 

Six girls and three boys they numbered, all hard 
workers and hard thinkers, and Professor Baker said 
they were worthy of a commencement which would be 

223 


224 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


remembered in Mapleton as long as the generation 
remained. 

The school-board thought that suitable exercises 
were fitting, but did not feel that the tax-money should 
defray the expeness when the people were seeing such 
hard times. 

The class was sure they could raise the needed 
funds themselves, and the only question that arose 
came with a demur from Aunt Polly and some other 
mothers— “that it wasn’t now a suitable time for merry- 
making when dear ones away from home were exposed 
to danger and suffering.” But objections were over- 
ruled when the girls of the class had gone up to 
the W. S. A. S. meeting and Floy made an appeal 
for their aid and influence; claiming that, as an or- 
ganization to help soldiers, they should not discour- 
age soldiers’ daughters and sisters in a laudalde eifort, 
and then added, with a touching tremor in her voice : 

“We feel as deeply as you can the bitterness of this 
cruel war; we know its dark side and weep as you 
weep; but don’t you all think ’tis best to be as cheery 
as we can be and not meet trouble half way, so we’ll 
have more nerve to bear it if it does come?” 

Mrs. Osborne’s sweet, patient face appeared from 
among the crowd as she finished, and the case was 
soon won. She said; 

“I think Floy is right, ladies. The daughters and 
sisters of soldiers should be made as happy as possi- 
ble, and we all need to gain strength in the sunshine. 
That’s Harry’s old class; he’d be enthusiastic over 
commencement, I know, if he was here; he asked 
about the class in his last letter. I want to help all 
I can; you may depend upon me, girls.” 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


225 


That settled it, and it had been smooth sailing 
since; for cakes, pies and chickens had been donated 
liberally. The class had expected to buy the fruit, 
but one morning, the doctor called Floy aside, say- 
ing: 

“Here, mother’s sympathies are enlisted to help this 
class out;’’, and he gave her five dollars; “you’ll have 
other expenses besides substantials. ’’ It looked mighty 
large to Floy and was a “big lift’’ as it paid for the 
fruit and the hall. 

Now, even the weather was favorable, and the class 
was in gleeful spirits. Prof. Baker came to the hall 
and helped arrange tables, seats, and so on, with a 
dexterity which surprised the girls, who had consid- 
ered him too learned for anything so common-place as 
making tables from lumber and store boxes. Lois 
dropped in to offer her assistance but it was of no 
use; for Floy and Marne could have done it all, they 
weie so excited. It was a matter of some moment 
with the curious, who would be the preferred escort of 
Lois. The young army officer had evidently been 
under her care at the hospital, and had been out with 
her several times since their home-coming together, a 
thing much in his favor, ’twas generally decided. 
But Prof. Baker had spent at least one evening at the 
parsonage, and he had corresponded with her while 
she was away, for the school-girls vowed they had 
seen envelopes addressed in her unmistakable hand- 
writing, on the desk, and post-marked St. Louis. He 
was considered quite a “catch” by the anxious mothers 
of the village, and many of the young ladies them- 
selves, Miss Roby, the teacher in the 2nd primary — 
^5 


226 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


and a good one — Mrs. Grundy knew would give her 
eyes for him; and it was whispered that he would be 
a favored suitor at Judge Burton’s, if he chose to fol- 
low up the vantage ground gained by once escorting 
Emma home from a rehearsal. 

So, many significant looks were exchanged that 
night when John Edwards came in with his mother; 
Marne had come to the hall quite early with Floy. 

Aunt Polly, who had talked over the pros and cons 
of this event at the cottage, whispered to Grace: 

“I vow to goodness if there aint John Edwards with 
his mother! Now if that girl has played off on him 
for that eddicated poker, I’ll tell her she’s not as smart 
as I tuk her to be! " 

“Wait; she may come with her father,” said Grace, 
“No,” — for the door opened again and Mr. and Mrs. 
Miller entered. 

“Here, Mrs. Edwards, take this place by my moth- 
er," said Will, rising, as John led his mother down 
the hall to find a comfortable seat; “I want a talk with 
John, anyway.” The two soldiers sauntered off toward 
the other corner of the hall, meeting old-time friends 
who shook Will’s left hand heartily, while their faces 
spoke their sympathy for him in his loss. But Will 
soon returned to Grace and Baby Gwen, who came to 
him with chubby hands uplifted. 

“I want on my papa’s lapen," and at once on getting 
there began searching for “appety in my papa’s toc- 
otan.” 

“Where’s John,” said Grace; “I thought you wanted 
to talk so badly.” 

“You see you’re such a powerful magnet I can’t stay 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


327 


away long enough," said Will; but in a sotto voce, 
added, "John’s gone down to the parsonage, I suspect; 
he gave me the slip anyhow, saying he’d be with me 
soon; I’m second choice you see. There! just as I 
thought. " 

For in came John and Lois, looking her best in a 
new black alpaca and scarlet ribbons, rivaled in color 
and brightness by her glossy hair and sparkling eyes. 
Her hair she wore to-night in two long braids, tied 
with scarlet ribbons. She was a general favorite with 
young and old, and as they walked down the hall they 
were greeted with bows and pleasantries on all sides, 
and Lieutenant Edwards looked quite proud of her, 
and glad to be at home again. 

"Do you know anything of Prof. Baker?” asked Floy, 
coming up presently from the culinary end of the hall 
where she had been making coffee and helping to cut 
cakes. "Here’s a hall full of people waiting for supper, 
and no Prof. Baker to make the announcements; you 
whisked him off somewhere. Now if you have had a 
duel, lieutenant, out with it, and Guy will read the 
programme," as she detected a concealed something 
in their faces. 

"I saw him early,” began Lois. 

"There he is now," as she finished. Prof. Baker en- 
tered with Miss Roby. 

"He called at the parsonage early, and now he comes 
with Miss Roby! O ho!" laughed Floy, "I under- 
stand. Wouldn’t she rave if she only knew she was 
second choice? Happy Roby! ‘ignorance is bliss.’ 
Come now, they’re going to sing. Now, lieutenant, 
if you are just as musical as your brass buttons are 


328 


IVHAT n COST; OR 


ornamental, you might stand by the leading soprano; 
but you can talk to Will; I see he’s staying with 
Gwen. ” 

The girls went off arm-in-arm while John made his 
way to Will, and found a comfortable place with him 
on a temporarily constructed seat, consisting of a board, 
covered with one of Aunt Polly’s thick comforts. 

“Well, old fellow, this is pretty fine, isn’t it? ’twill 
make camp life seem tougher than ever for awhile, 
won’t it?” and Will looked from the face just visible 
above the organ — the face that seemed, to him sweeter 
than even Grace Osborne’s had been, to the chubby 
innocent one of Baby Gwen, sleeping in her buggy 
beside him. 

“You’re right. It beats even the camp-fire yarn-spin- 
ing, to say nothing of land-surveying all day on foot, 
with fat meat and hard-tack for refreshments.” 

“Harry would take this in with a vim, wouldn’t he!" 
for Will, on his furlough, had never enjoyed a real 
treat without thinking of the boy, alone and far away 
in the ranks. “This was his old class; he was at the 
head of it, too! '* 

“ ’Twill be a comfort to him when we get back with 
news straight from home. ' I mean to be back soon, 
too, I’m getting restless," said John. “Poor Tip! I 
came across him soon after he had found Clay, and — 
well, I’ve seen anguish, of both mind and body borne 
manfully, but Harry Osborne was the bravest, manliest 
heart-broken fellow I ever saw! The doctor is not 
out to-night?" 

“No; he had to drive out ten miles, and mother 
didn’t care to come, anyway. Hello! look there! the 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


239 


whcle McGuire outfit. ‘Leetle Pathrick, ’ that Pat 
used to talk so much about, is quite a boy. See him nab 
that apple from the table. Poor little chap! I expect 
they have a hard time of it and even apples are a luxury. ’’ 

Floy went to the McGuires as soon as the singing 
stopped, for she couldn’t bear to see them neglected 
at an entertainment given by the ‘'64’s. ” They did 
look ill-at-ease, for Kate had succeeded by promise of 
"goodies” soon, in getting them to be good, and they 
all sat stiff and rigid, in a straight row, "being good” 
— they knew no other way. The sight was painful to 
Floy, who had never seen them at rest before. 

"Good evening, Mrs. McGuire. Why are you so 
quiet, boys? You must run around like the rest of the 
children and have a good time. Hello, Pat I You’re 
getting to be quite a man,” and she slipped some can- 
dy into his hand, still red from its recent scouring. 
"Glad you all came.” 

"An’ now isthn’t he a growin’ to bate the world! 
Faith an’ ef his father don’t come home soon sure he’ll 
niver know him at all, at all!" said Kate, pushing back 
little Pat’s hair proudly. "Yis, an we’re ivery one 
here, all along of that gude Doctor Osborne, the saints 
presarve him! Ye’es see, Moike was a cryin’ to cum 
all ter wake, but I coldn’tguv him niver a cint, ’case I 
hadn’t a cint. But bless yer swate face, an’ who should 
cum and knock this mornin’ but Doctor Osborne his- 
self. An’ he guv me money fur all ov us, sed as how 
Meesh Osborne didn’t want to cum but wanted the 
hull of us to cum. An’ he told the boys to ate as 
long as they could stand. An’ its moighty foine ivery 
thing looks.” 


230 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“We’re glad you all got to come,’’ said Floy. “Now 
whenever there’s room at the tables you bring the 
children and just have a good time.’’ 

In the meanwhile, Guy, as pre-arranged, had come 
up to Will and John, making his best bow with: 

“Gentlemen of the ‘Old Reliable,’ (Harry had writ- 
ten Gen. T — ’s name for Co. F)“the class .of ’64 takes 
off its hat to you and asks that you will grace the first 
table as our guests; your ladies are of course included 
in the invitation.” 

“Is this honor intended for ourselves or our coats?” 
asked Will, signaling Grace, who was coming down 
from the rostrum. 

“The coats,” said Guy emphatically. “All honor to 
the coats of blue, symbol of the cause espoused so 
true!” 

“Ha! who have we here, Caesar or Cicero?” in mock 
surprise asked Will. 

“Seize her, and come to supper,” said Guy as Grace 
came up. John went for Lois. He found her at the 
organ talking to Prof. Baker, idly turning the leaves 
of a music book and so absorbed in the conversation 
that she didn’t notice his approach. He would have 
waited, had he not caught the professor’s eye, which 
turned again in feigned innocence, and seeing that he 
meant to ignore his presence and protract the conver- 
sation, John abruptly said: 

“Miss Lois — excuse the intrusion — if you are ready 
for supper the class would like us at this table; they 
have had places reserved I believe. ” The professor bit 
his blonde mustache in evident chagrin, but Lois 
turned quickly. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


231 


"No intrusion, I assure you, to announce supper. 
The offense would have been unpardonable if you 
hadn’t spoken at once. Floy told me I was to be 
considered a soldier and all of us honored,” she said, 
with a smile Prof. Baker thought uncalled for. "Ex- 
cuse me, please.” 

"Another ‘soldier’ thrust at me,” thought Prof. Ba- 
ker, as he bowed, and they walked off. 

The professor was sorely hurt at any reference to 
soldiers just now, because he was debating in his own 
mind the pros and cons of enlisting. It was not 
from cowardice he didn’t enter the ranks, at first; but 
partly because he didn’t give the subject much thought, 
being absorbed in his daily mental routine, and partly 
because he thought the war wouldn’t last long, and his 
services would not be needed in the field; and then he 
believed he could serve his country better by teaching 
boys and girls. But since the news of Clay Osborne’s 
death had come like a thunder-bolt to the village, he 
had been debating with himself the question of enlist- 
ing. He got Miss Roby and joined the "soldier trio,” 
as Floy called Lois and the "blue coats.” 

As John seated Lois, Floy came quickly with two 
cups of coffee, ran ’gainst him and spilled one; but he 
prevented it from getting on him by an agile spring. 
Floy was much provoked at her blunder, for she want- 
ed Will to see she had improved, and he might laugh 
at this awkward move, but she said adroitly: "Fie, 
lieutenant, retreat, and you a soldier?” 

"Never,” replied John promptly, "Only getting a 
good foothold for a hand-to-hand contest if that other 
cup is to be hurled at me.” 


232 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


In the general laugh which followed. Will joined as 
heartily as any, for Will wasn’t one mite ashamed of 
his little sister. 

The table-talk started off with witticisms from Lois 
and good-natured jests between Will and the waiters as 
they passed; but it would drift into regrets at the ab- 
sence of dear ones and the late news of the war. Prof. 
Baker and Miss Roby sat near the class-guests, and 
joined in the general conversation. 

“Say, John, you’ll wait until I can return with you, 
won’t you!” asked Will. 

“Well, I don’t know; when can you go? I’m about 
well and might go back any time,” said John. “I ex- 
pect there is room for me. " 

“I think I’ll go by the middle of the month,” said 
Will. 

“So soon! No, no,” said Grace, a deep shadow set- 
tling o’er her face. “I don’t think you can be ready 
in two or three weeks, Will." 

“We’re needed now, and I must go if I’m O. K., 
and I shall be,” said Will, trying to smile down the 
troubled look on Grace’s face, though to himself even 
now was coming a dread of the parting. “Here’s Lois 
going at once. She’s not loafing round. Can you 
wait, John?” 

“Perhaps so; I’ll see about it. I’ve written that I 
can return most any time, and wait orders.” 

“I’ve written too, but fixed the i6th, to start," said 
Will glancing at Grace. 

“Why, Will Morris! you never mentioned the fact 
to us,” said Grace; “now that’s too soon; I had count- 
ed on having you six weeks still, at the very least." 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


283 


"We’ll get home all the sooner, and are surer of 
victory, if we hurry off," said Wilh "Can’t you stay 
up until the i6th, too, Lois? Do; then the lieuten- 
ant will be sure to do so, and we’ll make quite a party. ” 

"O no! Pm needed this minute, and must go 
day after to-morrow. I don’t mind going now, but 
oh, how I hated to leave my mother the first time! " 

‘Soldiering seems rather at a premium here, to-night. " 
Miss Roby almost sneered in a low tone to the professor. 

"It deserves to be," was the unexpected reply, 
"with Mr. Morris’ armless sleeve and Mr. Edwards’ 
lame shoulder to plead for it." 

"Now let’s have some music and drive away the 
blues! " said Lois, as they left the table, but she 
stopped to smile at the McGuire children, who came 
eagerly forward to fill vacancies, both in the chairs, 
and in their little Irish stomachs. 

"Unbutton your vests, boys, and fill up clear to your 
ears." said Will. “Hello, Patrick, you’re a fine fat 
boy; I’ll tell your father about you.” 

"Faith an’ I’m obleeged to yer! ” said Kate with a 
sparkle in her eye. "An’ the boys can put away enough 
in their boots for a wake, follerin’ yer example.” 
And Kate sat down amid the laugh that followed. 

"When you’re at leisure, I would like a word with 
you, Capt. Morris,” said the professor, touching 
Will’s arm. 

"I’m at leisure now," said Will in some surprise, 
excusing himself from Grace, who went on with the 
singers. "Shall we find a quiet corner?” 

They withdrew from the crowd. Will wondering what 
was coming. 


234 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“You say, Capt. Morris, you go back the i6th; Fve 
decided to go with you. There! I see you’re surprised. 
You thought I was too big a coward, did you? Well, 
I suppose I should have gone sooner; but I didn^t 
think much about it; at first, I didn’t dream ’twas go- 
ing to be such a gigantic struggle — of course no one 
could guess it. But I felt too insignificant to-night 
when you were talking of entering the field again. 
That I, an able-bodied man, should stay contentedly 
at home and let disabled men defend the flag I love, 
seems too much like shirking. Why can’t you stay 
here, Morris, and take my place in the schools?” 

“Well! this is a conglomeration of surprises,” said 
Will when he had recovered somewhat. “You enlist? 
Good. We need men of your mold and ability. But, 
I take your place here? Preposterous! No, no! I 
have espoused the cause of this Union and Pll see her 
triumph, or fall with her, or for her!” 

“Morris, you’re a man — a true man!” exclaimed the 
professor grasping the left hand fraternally. 

“Pd like to go in your company; how can I manage 
it?” 

“In the ranks?” Why perhaps you can secure an 
appointment,” said Will, wondering if the professor 
were not sounding him to learn if jie had any influ- 
ence and would help him secure an officer’s place, at 
once. “I don’t know that I have any influence, but any- 
thing that I can do for you would be gladly done.” 

But no, he had misjudged him for, with a quick 
gesture, he said: 

“No, in the ranks is the vacancy I want to fill. 
Shoulder-straps won are the only ones I’d wear. I’ll 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


235 


leave my resignation here to-morrow morning — run up 
to Belmont on the early train; file my application with 
the recruiting officer, and get back on No. 4, in 
time for the New Year’s dinner at Judge Burton’s. 
That’s a good program. What’s your company — Co. 
F, of—?” 

"yth Iowa,” said Will. "There’ll be room for you. 
This class will feel cut up at first. Who do you think 
can take your place?” 

“I wouldn’t have this class disappointed for any- 
thing else — ’tis a noble class! It has been the thought 
of them that has held me some time. Why, there’s a 
Prof. Hull in Belmont, now, arranging to open a pri- 
vate school; if he could be induced to come, and I’ll 
see if he can; I’d never be missed. But I may be of 
some use at present — I see Floy looks perplexed. Will 
see you again — you will be at the Judge’s to-morrow?” 

Will bowed assent and the professor turned hastily, 
but came back to say: 

"Please don’t mention this. It must not get out 
until my resignation is tendered. ” 

"This man is a noble, whole-souled fellow after all ! 
I had thought him a selfish book-worm. We can never 
tell what kind of a heart throbs under a broadcloth coat 
any more than we can tell that under a faded jeans! ” 
Will commented mentally. "He leaves a position 
here with a cool thousand a year, and is willing to go 
into the ranks. Could there be some motive back of 
this?” and intuitively his eyes turned toward Lois 
Miller, the center of a merry group around the organ. 
"Could she be the cause of this self-sacrificing mood 
of the professor? She evidently enjoys John — I 


286 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Vv’oiildn’t have him hurt for all the professors in the 
world. ‘Old Gold-filled’ Edwards must have the 
inside track, by merit.” 

Grace met him as he went toward the singers 

‘‘I was looking for you, truant,” she said, taking his 
arm. "Let’s get mother and Gwen and go home. I 
must not allow you to get tired out to-night or we can’t 
go to Judge Burton’s to-morrow. Mother ate with 
Mrs. Edwards at the same table we did, and has talked 
herself tired, I know.” 

'But Floy is as busy as ever and has not had supper 
yet. ” 

"No, she’ll be here until ‘swearing-off’ time, she 
says, and Guy will drive up with her. Come, there’s 
another delegation coming after you. ” And she hurried 
him toward Aunt Polly and then the cloak-room. 

"We shall expect you and your ladies to dinner, 
without fail,” called Judge Burton as they left the 
hall. And Professor Baker bowed such a friendly 
good-night that Aunt Polly prrlled Will’s sleeve the 
moment the door closed, with: 

"What on airth’s the matter with the ‘school-dad?’ 
he had you cornered a powerful long time.” But she 
could scarcely believe her senses when Will told them 
the professor was going to enlist. 

"It’s all along of Lois Miller,” vowed she; "mark 
my words: she’s so wrapped up in soldiering, he 
thinks he’ll charge on that side!” 

"Flank movement, you think,” laughed Will, though 
he had entertained the same thought. 

"I think you misjudge him, mother,” said Grace. 
"Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s cold 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


237 


and reserved seemingly; indeed, during the four months 
we taught together our acquaintance never reached be- 
yond mere civility. But he has a high sense of honor 
— his boys and girls love him. Floy and the class 
will be awfully disappointed k he resigns.' He should 
enlist without any outside motive; he has no family, 
so he can leave home better than many.” 

"Here we are! — logic and charity combined. I 
think you’re right, Grace, though I had the same 
thoughts as mother, at first,” said Will; then added, 
merely to see the effect: “He wants me to take his 
place in the schools here.” 

“And will you? oh. Will, if you only would! ” and 
Grace dropped the lines and looked into his eyes with 
such pleading ones that Will regretted having men- 
tioned the offer; while even Aunt Polly forgot her 
patriotism enough to say: 

"Do it, Will; you could! you’ve studied everything 
they’ve got and—” 

"Now, my Grace, and my old army-loving mother, 
would you have me throw down my musket and run, 
just when the cry of victory is heard coming? no, I 
must see the goddess reinstated.” 

"Of course you’re right. Will,” said Grace, after a 
moment’s silence; "but the temptation to have you at 
home quite overcame my patriotism.” 

"I forgot to remark to you, ladies, that this enlist- 
ment is to be kept a secret until Prof. Baker himself 
announces it,” said Will, looking the caress he feign 
would give the dear girl who so dreaded his going 
away. "We won’t tell Floy until she learns it at the 
dinner to-morrow. ” 


238 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“Dinner at five o’clock! It’s supper, and not all the 
style in the world can make anything else out of it," 
said Aunt Polly, “I’ll wager they think they’re mighty 
condescendin’ to have this big New Year’s doin’s, and 
if it warn’t for Will I ^wouldn’t set my foot on the 
place. ’’ 


CHAPTER XVII 


GETTING READY TO RETTIRN 

Aunt Polly forgot all about the condescension next 
day when Mrs. Burton, as an agreeable hostess, had 
given her an easy-chair among those of her acquaint- 
ances she especially enjoyed; while the judge was tell- 
ing jokes and beaming upon his guests, of whom there 
were some forty. 

Aunt Polly was now full of pride and pleasure, which 
this visit could scarcely inspire. She and Mrs. Ed- 
wards compared notes upon something which they chat- 
ted and nodded happily over, and it wasn’t long until 
the cause of their rapture was known throughout the 
parlor. 

That afternoon’s mail had brought a long, important- 
looking envelope to Will, which proved to be a com- 
mission as colonel of the Seventh Iowa. With it a 
letter from Gen. T — congratulating him upon his 
speedy recovery and praising his gallantry at Chatta- 
nooga. In the same mail, came John Edwards’ com- 
mission as Captain of Co. F. in his stead! 

Prof. Baker was among the last to arrive, and, when 
it eked out through some questions from Dr. Osborne, 
that he had enlisted, and a new principal would take 
his place in the school, many and varied were the com- 
ments. The busy buzz through the rooms told its stir- 
ring effects! The class of ’64 was hurt— deeply hurt. 

239 


240 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Floy declared it was no use to try to finish the course 
with a new professor. 

“He may be a walking encyclopedia but he won’t 
do!” she said when Prof. Baker urged the proficiencies 
of Prof. Hull. “Prof. Baker, we’ve been awfully bad 
sometimes and treated you shamefully, but we’ll be 
meek as kittens if you’ll stay!” 

“Enlisted! Goody!” cried Lois, coming from the 
library. 

“So here’s one person who is glad to see me go,” 
said the professor with an attempt at jollity. 

“Lois would sacrifice everybody and everything for 
this cruel war! I love my country; but would rather 
let the South and it’s negroes go, than to lose the no- 
blest and most gallant of our citizens," broke in Emma 
Burton, petulantly. 

“Look out, Emma, or we’ll cry treason!" said Floy. 
“You don’t mean half of that! Lois don’t spare her- 
self; she doesn’t stay in comfort and safety while she’s 
anxious for recruits." 

Lois’ face had colored and her eyes flashed angry 
retort, but Emma now saw the mistake in wounding a 
guest and hastened to make amends. 

“That’s so, Lois is a martyr, too; that sentiment did 
sound like a little rebel, didn’t it? It’ s well my father 
did not hear such traitorous language. But really, I’m 
narrow-minded enough to wish everybody would not go 
anyway. " 

After an elegant dinner, the company divided into 
groups; music and parlor games, “who am I?" and 
charades, occupied the young people, while notes upon 
the latest messages irom sons and husbands were com- 
pared by the older company. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


241 


Lois slipped off to a quiet part of the library to 
think; though she made a desperate effort to appear 
absorbed in a copy of "Uncle Tom’s Cabin” which she 
took down. She wanted to be alone just a moment, 
and thought she had slipped off unnoticed, but some- 
one had been watching all the evening to see her alone, 

• and some one whose approach she had not perceived 
observed that 'she did not turn a leaf nor look upon the 
page. 'Twas Prof. Baker, who stood beside her look- 
ing at the glossy braids with an expression that made 
her start when she raised her eyes. 

"Oh, I thought I was quite alone,” she said. 

"No, I could not resist a last word with you, Lois. 
No, don’t be frightened! Every knight wore his lady’s 
colors and did for her sake and the king’s his deeds of 
valor, or met death gallantly; do you know, little girl, 
when I go into the battle I will carry your pure angel- 
face with me? I have no mother now, I never had a 
sister; a proud fashion-serving aunt, in Brooklyn, 
would scarcely give me a second thought if I were left 
under the Southern turf. But give me the right to call 
you my ‘fair lady,’, and never knight went forth better 
armed — Lois, darling little Lois — 1 love you truly, 
madly — ” 

"Prof. Baker, don’t!" cried Lois, "I never dreamed 
of your friendship coming to this! Let me be your 
sister, and I will care for your going and pray for 
your safe and happy return, but — ” 

"I don’t want a sister now, Lois. There comes a 
love in the life of every one stronger, higher, holier 
than even that; ’tis for that I crave. Oh, Lois, am I 
too late? Is there another from wliom these words 


i6 


242 


IVH/tT IT COST; OR 


would seem more welcome?” and he looked so fiercely 
passionate, that she resented the look while she pitied 
him with all her woman’s heart. 

“Prof. Baker, you have no right to question me like 
this,” she said, rising, "I cannot give you what you 
ask. Believe me — I think you a good man, worthy the 
cause you espouse and worthy the life-love of some 
true woman. But that I cannot give — can never give 
you — ” 

The sight of the proud cold man who leaned so 
heavily against the shelves and now grasped a volume 
of Hume’s General History with trembling hands, 
brought up the deepest pity she had ever known. 

“Forgive me. Prof. Baker," she said pleadingly, “I 
pity you so; and will always prize you as a friend.” 

“Never mind. Pardon this show of weakness. I 
understand — you love another. I should have seen it. 
Don’t pity me; forget me rather!” Then turning 
proudly, he added: “Shall we return to the parlors?” 

She went, in perfect silence, across the hall, wonder- 
ing how she might be natural in manner. 

He never betrayed, by look or word, any more agi- 
tation; but joined the game of “who am I?” which 
Floy challenged them to enter, with a zest that kept 
Lois wondering if this could be the man who exhibited 
such passionate agitation in the library. 

She laughed merrily too; if he could, with such 
strength, hide his secret under admirable composure, 
never by word or look would she betray it; and as the 
evening went on in merry games and telling jests, Lois 
in part forgot the sting the interview in the library held, 
and heartily enjoyed this last evening with old school- 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


243 


friends, before taking up her work again. But in the 
hall, as they were all going to their sleighs, she slipped 
her hand in his, saying: 

"Forgive me. I would have spared you this pain if I 
could! ” 

A warm clasp and "good night" were the only re- 
plies. 

Lois took Capt. John Edwards’ arm, for he had 
taken his mother and Marne home earlier, that he might 
have this last sleigh-ride with her. But since he had 
seen her so much with, and talking so earnestly to. 
Prof. Baker, he didn’t feel as jolly as he had some 
times in the past week, when they had driven all alone 
in the moonlight. 

"Confound it! She’s a daisy little girl just the same, 
and I love her, in spite of herself, himself, or myself!” 
he thought as he tucked the robe snugly round her and 
persuaded the lively team to take a spirited gait. 

"This is fine," said Lois, with sparkling eyes. "Oh, 
if we were only all at home in peace and safety, what 
royal times we would have! But to-morrow — to-mor- 
row comes so soon!" This with a feeling of regret she 
couldn’t account for. 

"Wait until we go, won’t you, Lois? Do! I want 
your face to be the last I see of home;" then he asked 
suddenly, as if the question was suggested by the pre- 
vious thought. "Say, have you anything to do with 
Prof. Baker’s joining the ranks? But don’t tell me if 
you have, Lois?” as she attempted speaking. "Lois, 
darling, darling Lois, I love you — I have always 
loved you, and no one shall take you from me! Prof. 
Baker is more learned than I, and is, I believe, a real 


244 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


man — but oh, little darling, how could I give you up?” 

‘‘I don’t see any necessity for your doing so! ” and 
the brown eyes looked up saucily into the passionate 
ones. But only for a moment when they were hidden 
against a heavy overcoat. The parsonage gate was 
reached soon; but the team went on and passed it, 
and John let them go — these ‘‘two old school-mates” 
had so much to say to each other. It had all happened 
so abruptly that the}^ laughed over how it came about. 

‘‘I had not intended saying anything of this sort 
until, when the war was over, I had a cozy home for 
you; then I meant to win you if ’twas possible. But 
I rather like this way best, darling Lois, my Lois! ” he 
whispered, as he left her at the gate. 

Lois left for her work on the next day, having spent 
an hour of the morning at Elm Cottage and bidden 
Will good-bye. Her father took her to the depot; her 
dear, loving mother was left standing weeping in the 
door, whence she could see the girlish figure entering 
the car-door. 

Both Capt. Edwards and Prof. Baker were in the 
crowd of depot-loungers, and as she bade him good-bye 
the professor said : 

‘‘Don’t give this matter one sad thought, even if I 
never return. You were not to blame.” A big sob 
prevented any other reply than her tears that fell un- 
checked. 

It cost her the greatest pang she had ever known to 
say “good-bye!” to the young army officer, who held 
her hand in both his own for a moment; then sud- 
denly turned away. But as the train moved off, he 
came back to say: 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


245 


“I shall stop at the hospital one day; will leave home 
a day sooner than Morris,” 

“Oh, good!” and the face brightened perceptibly. 
”Dr. Ackton will be glad to see you. Be sure to 
come into Ward M.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE GUERRILLA RAID 

"Give US your money, sir, without delay, or abide by 
the consequences," and the speaker held a cocked re- 
volver in the face of the cashier of the Mapleton bank 
to give emphasis to his words. 

As there were two other guerrillas with him and sev- 
eral horsemen in front of the bank, although a revolver 
and rifle were very close at his elbow, the cashier 
obeyed. 

The long-looked-for and much-talked-of guerrillas 
were in town! Many plans had been made and much drill- 
ing done in order to be ready for such an emergency^ 
Some had even wished "that the guerrillas would come 
to Mapleton, where the people were neither cowards 
nor friends to rebel soldiers!" Every man and boy in 
town had prepared a gun or pistol of some kind, and 
thought, in case they came, they could entertain them 
in true warrior style. 

Facts are hard things to deal with. So long as the 
guerrillas wrought their work of depredation elsewhere, 
Mapleton could indignantly cry out against it and 
allow it could not be done here; some even cried out, 
and perhaps allowed themselves to believe "that they 
did not dare come to Mapleton." The Davis Co. men 
had been called cowards by some since the guerrillas 

24C 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


247 


had been through there recently and killed several citi- 
zens who resisted them. They had taken horses and 
money wherever they found them; had got to Capt. 
Bence^s house in broad daylight, taken him out a short 
distance and shot him, yet never had one of their num- 
ber been killed. But now they had reached Mapleton 
— what did Mapleton do? Why, allow them to rob the 
bank and every store in town that was open; eat their 
breakfast at the hotel and ride off without a shot being 
fired except by Jack Riley, who got into town just as 
they were riding out. He fired several shots at them 
as they galloped away, shooting the cap off of one of 
them. Will Morris and John Edwards had been gone 
but a few days; but they were hundreds of miles away 
by that time. 

Someone had remembered Jack Rile}?-, who had come 
home on a furlough to “get rid of the rebel ague” as it 
was termed, and gone out after him to ask him what 
to do. 

Jack was in bed, but the word “guerrilla” cured him 
at once, and hastily dressing, he jerked his gun and 
started with: 

“Why, darn it, shoot 'em! That’s the proper .thing 
to do; that’s what they’re for, to be shot! ” 

Hannah, pale and excited, begged Jack not to go, 
saying that "they’d kill him sure if they saw his army- 
clothes. “ 

“No, don’t fret! They won’t take time to shoot at 
me if I go straight to them with or without uniform 
on; for they are a set of cowards that are afraid to join 
their regular army. 1 must have a shot at one of them, 
for I suppose they’re the nearest to a rebel soldier I’ll 


248 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


see in these parts, and I haven’ t had a shot at one for 
six weeks." 

Jack was the hero of the town after that guerrilla cap 
was picked up. And if Marne Edwards had felt a lit- 
tle backward in allowing Jack to take her to church on 
the sabbath evening prior to the "raid,” she was proud 
of it now. At once, upon the departure of the "raiders” 
the villagers began to congregate on the street-corners 
and wonder what to do, since none of their previ- 
ous plans had proved available. They involuntarily 
turned to Jack for orders, in the pursuit all agreed 
upon. 

"We must get all the horses we can at once, and fol- 
low them,” said Jack. 

"We can’t do a thing though, if we’d overtake them," 
said one of the crowd. 

"We could not raise half their number,” objected 
another. 

"We can raise twice that number and not half try,” 
said Jack. "I’ll be one to go, but must get a horse 
that can travel." 

"You was scared so bad you didn’t see the whole 
gang evidently,” said Sam Cline. "There was a hun- 
dred of them if there was a man!" 

"O pshaw, Cline! you’re excited. You got scared at 
their shadows," said Jack. "Twenty is a big esti- 
mate. " 

"Yanks," as the Confederates dubbed the Union sol- 
diers, ought to guess better than that, and various esti- 
mates were given, ranging from seventy-five to two 
hundred. While they were yet talking, Mike McGuire 
came up and asked if they were going to drill, and 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


249 


who those sixteen men were that drove by their house 
so fast he could hardly count them. 

Jack now got some of them out after horses, others 
after guns, but some still lingered at the council corner, 
regretting the various circumstances which prevented 
their going. For instance — Sam Cline had no gun. 

“Fm always out of luck,” he said, "when Co. F 
went out, it was full before I knew it.” 

“Well, it ‘isn’t full now, Cline,” said Jack, coming up 
from a reconnoitering trip round town. And he gave 
Cline a look that was not exactly complimentary, and 
which served to quench his eloquence for some time. 

“There they come back,” said some one. “See them 
coming over the hill?” 

It proved to be Dr. Osborne. He wasn’t driving fast; 
that was a matter worthy of notice; for he must have 
met the guerrillas and would want to know what they 
had done in the town. 

“Hello, Doc! you’ve been trading horses, haven’t 
you?” said Jack, with such a ringing laugh that some 
couldn’t see its propriety at such a time. 

“Well, yes. That isn’t the same team I took you 
down home with, and you see I had to give my cap to 
boot,” said the doctor, pulling back his scarf. 

“Here’s a cap you can have,” said Jack, “if you 
don’t mind having your head close to where a bullet 
has been,” twirling the cap over and over, with his 
finger through the bullet hole. 

“Tnat’s the cap my own had to replace,” said the 
doctor, examining the rent. “That looks as if a North- 
ern bullet made as ugly a wound as a Southern one, 
too. By Jove! that was a close call, wasn’t it?" 


250 


WHAT IT COST; OR 


“Yes," said Jack, “if his head had been as big as 
yours, you’d have had a job of refitting a reb’s brains 
or else he would have been mustered out of service 
without notice. But say. Doc, you didn’t tell us why 
you traded off Fan. When we left three years ago. Fan 
was such a pet I supposed you would always keep her. 
But I can guess how you traded; you gave the cap. 
Fan, and all the money you had in your pocket, and 
agreed to petition Lincoln to let the South go, in the 
bargain, besides having to unhitch and hitch up all 
by yourself." 

“Well, Jack, you’re a pretty good guesser; I did give 
all the money 1 had in my pocket, but I saved a little 
just the same;" then the doctor puzzled the crowd by 
going aroutid in front of the team ; taking off the collar 
from the guerrilla’s horse, he shook it vigorously, and 
out rolled two gold coins. 

“You see I had a good idea who it was when I saw 
them coming, so just took those out of my wallet, went 
around like I was fixing the collar, and dropped them 
down that ripped place in the top. They galloped up 
and demanded my money, but found only six or seven 
dollars. After a good search they remarked that I did 
not have much money for the rig I drove, or else the 
Northern cusses must be about bled out. I was con- 
gratulating myself on getting off so well when one of 
them said: 'Say, old chap, you ought to do more than 
that for Jeff. Davis! so I guess you had better contrib- 
ute that gray mare, and don’t waste any time or 
words about it either, but unharness quick!’ He em- 
phasized the ‘quick’ and glanced at the revolver in his 
belt. I took the hint and moved like a school-boy, but 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


251 


1 handled the collar ‘with care.’ The fellow swore 
‘that that hoss wasn’t so particular about getting a lit- 
tle dirt on his collar as I was, and I’d better hurry.’ 
I hurried, too, for I was just as anxious for them to 
go as they were to be gone; and their general appear- 
ance helped me to obey orders without much ceremony. " 

By this time the crowd had begun to arrive with 
horses and guns; the doctor wrote a note to Dr. Samp- 
son, saddled up his own horse, and soon forty armed 
men from Mapleton and vicinity were ready for chase. 
Recruits — "raw recruits” certainly, if compared with 
the original troop — were gathered all along the way, so 
that when they had crossed the "Hairy Nation” and 
reached the Missouri line their number had increased 
to one hundred and fort}'. 

Jack, as the only representive from the regular army, 
had been given the best horse in Mapleton and put in 
command. It would have taken a "Little Phil” Sheri- 
dan at Winchester to have surpassed him in appear- 
ance as he rode at the head and gave his orders. But 
the doctor had to explain that it was a southern ague 
and not fear, which caused his teeth to chatter for 
about two hours that afternoon. 

Night came on, and they had never been in sight of 
the guerrillas; though they had seen some of their "In- 
dian” work and had been told at several places that 
they could not be more than a half hour’s ride ahead 
of the pursuers. 

The greater part of the night was spent in hunting 
for the band, but they seemed to have scattered. 

Next morning, they got breakfast at Memphis and 
were arranging to divide and go back in two squads, 


252 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


when the news came that the guerrillas had been seen 
that morning about four miles north of that town. 
They were all in their saddles and facing northward, 
at once. Before two miles were passed, a crowd of 
mounted men was discerned, off to the right. The 
sight of them put new vim in Jack, who ordered a halt, 
threw his men in line and prepared for an attack or 
brave defense. The commands were promptly obeyed, 
though many of the “braves” were now shaking as if 
Jack’s southern ague had been contagious. 

They advanced within a quarter of a mile from the 
gang, which had rode to some hay-ricks in a field hard 
by, and had quite a fine barricade. Some suggested 
retreat, or caution, at least, and thought it best not to 
be “fool-hardy,” but wait until the guerrillas should 
open fire. But Jack rallied then, and, inspired some 
courage by his own enthusiasm; he had the Stars and 
Stripes unfurled, telling the flag-bearer to keep close 
to him, and ordered the company to await the signal for 
firing. The old flag roused the lagging enthusiasm as 
it flapped brightly in the morning sunlight, and Jack 
declared that he felt at home once more; when lo! two 
men rode out from the hay-ricks with a white flag 
hoisted on a pole! 

“Why, blame the cowards!” said Jack. “Why didn’t 
they make a pretense at fighting, any way? Victory 
without a struggle is no victory at all. No glory in 
receiving the surrender of a pack of cowards. " 

And he galloped away to receive the white flag amid 
the loud cheers from the little band of “home guards.” 

The terms of surrender were agreed upon and Jack 
signaled his men to advance, as did the two men their 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


253 


party. The Mapleton heroes (?) were on the spot before 
the others from the hay-ricks had fairly started; for 
men will rush on to victory, but are slow to move in 
surrender. 

The flag was waved triumphantly as they came slowly 
down the hill; Jack^s blue uniform and brass buttons 
shone in the sunlight as he stood proudly ’neath the 
starry banner to receive the nation’s enemies, a part 
of them, at least. When they were but a few yards 
away he was astounded to hear “Halloo, Bill!” “Why 
halloo, Jo!” exchanged familiarly by men from among 
his own recruits and some of the advancing prisoners. 

“The Stars and Stripes! Well I’ll be blamed if we 
ainH a set of fools! the idea of a guerrilla commander 
in blue uniform!” and the leader laughed outright. 

The laugh was joined in, by both conquerors and 
conquered, as the truth came out that each band were 
loyal citizens searching for the same gang of guerrillas! 

The excuses for the “rag on the white pole” were 
numerous, but received with twinkling eyes and many 
a cutting jest from the “brave" band; but the best 
excuse was that they had no valiant soldier from the 
ranks to lead them. Then they rode back, “but not — 
not” with a guerrilla. 

Mapleton was reached late that night and there was 
some excited talk indulged in and severe threats made 
before they reached town. For upon discussing the 
raid, and comparing notes upon it, it was decided that 
the night before the guerrilla band entered Mapleton, 
they must have passed in the immediate vicinity; if so 
they had been harbored by some one who sympathized 
with the South, and that one must have been — Aaron 
Morris 1 


S54 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Every questionable circumstance was brought up, all 
put together to make up a long chain of evidence 
against the old farmer; the crowd formed a one-sided 
judge, jury and witness, all in one, and soon a verdict 
of “Guilty of harboring and aiding guerrillas, “ was 
given ’gainst the senior Morris. 

The only question was what the punishment should 
be and when administered; the general feeling was to 
go to Morris’ that night and have a settlement, at once. 

“No,” said Jack, whose ague was inviting him to 
stop. “We must not bother him after dark; that would 
not be a credit to us; it would be a sneaking guerrilla 
trick. Pm in favor of waiting on him in the morning, 
but not to-night." 

’Twas finally arranged to meet at the hall at ten, 
next morning, and they hastened to their homes for the 
night. Dr. Osborne went home feeling the least bit 
guilty. He had listened to the hard words and threats 
’gainst Aaron Morris, father of his son-in-law, and a 
man whom he had once respected as a strong-minded 
good citizen, an exemplary husband and a conscien- 
tious brother in the church. He had listened to the 
threats and curses without raising his voice to stay the 
tide of anger against the old man. 

"We have been rather hard on the old man, ’tis 
true," he said to himself; “but he should not have ex- 
cited the anger of the town by keeping murderers and 
robbers like that about his house. The case is so plain 
that there can be no mistake. That flag business was 
enough to demand his quitting the country, had it not 
been for his loyal son and wife. But now he has done 
a worse thing than that, if possible; ’twould be a sad 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


255 


blow on the family though, if any real harm should 
come to him. WiW’s eyes filled up and his voice was 
husky whenever he talked of his father, although the 
old hard-hearted fellow pretended he never knew his 
boy had lost a right arm! Will would be dreadfully 
grieved if the old man would receive harsh treatment ; 
we must do what we can for him. He must be warned 
not to repeat this thing, but for Will’s sake he must 
not be harmed. And Floy, poor girl, would never get 
over it if they’d harm a hair of his head. I’ll get Rev. 
Miller to go down to the hall with us to-morrow morn- 
ing and we’ll soften their feelings before they wait 
upon him.” 

Thus the doctor soliloquized as he went to his home 
and put his horse away; then he quickened his move- 
ments as he thought of the brown-eyed, patient woman 
awaiting his coming. 

”No one here, eh?” he said upon lighting a lamp 
and looking into the bed-room; then going back into 
the sitting-room he found a note which read: 

“Pa, come down to Grace’s at once. She is quite 
sick. Mother.” 

The next day, the hall was crowded with men of all 
ages and occupations but Dr. Osborne was not present 
nor was Rev. Miller. Rev. Miller had heard nothing 
of the meeting and the doctor had something on his 
mind which drove everything else out. ’Twas remark- 
ably strange how many found out about this meeting 
in so short a time, and stranger still, how many loyal 
men were there who believed in a decided action being 
taken that would forever prevent another outburst of 
”rebelism.” Neither the war meeting nor the guerrilla 


256 


IVHAT n COST; OR 


council had caused such an enthusiastic crowd to as- 
semble. Long and loud were the denunciations of such 
disloyalty. Sam’l Cline had no excuse to stay away. 
No; he was there, and gave as his opinion, that “such 
things should be set down on hard, and, though ’tis 
not pleasant, we must not shirk duty at a time, like 
this." Jack laughed outright at Sam Cline’s bravery; 
-but those who did not know Sam, thought the soldier 
laughed his approval of the patriotic speech. The ex- 
citement increased until, before any definite plans had 
been laid, the crowd became restless and noisy, began 
to move around and finally out of the house and up the 
road toward the Morris^ house. 

The curtains were drawn at Elm Cottage; so they 
passed there unnoticed. 

“Now,” said Jack as they came to the Morris gate, 
"we must find out whether they did stay here or not be- 
fore we do any more; it may be the old chap is inno- 
cent, after all." 

“Innocent nothing," said Sam’l. “He is as much a 
rebel as any in the South; of course he kept them, and 
I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there were some there 
now. " 

Over the fence and through the gate they hurried to 
reach the house and the old man. Aaron Morris heard 
the noise without — saw them, and stepped out on the 
porch. 

“Now, men, what’s the matter ! what brings you all 
here?" he asked sternly and quite unmoved. 

“Matter enough!" “We’ll show you what’s the mat- 
ter.” "You know as well as we do," came with vari- 
ous ejaculations from the crowd, and several revolvers 






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DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


257 


were fired to give emphasis to the words, although it 
was generally understood that no revolvers were to be 
taken. 

That sound Floy heard at the cottage. 

“What can be the matter up at pa’s?" said she, 
rushing in and slamming the door without noticing 
Aunt Polly’s admonition — “Be careful, Florence! 
Don’t tramp so hard.” 

‘Oh!" exclaimed Dr. Osborne, who was bending 
over poor, sick Grace, “that was very careless of me— 
I must go down there at once." 

But ere he could get his hat and gain the door, Floy 
was over the fence and speeding across the meadow. 

Old man Morris could think of nothing he had been 
doing to merit such a visit, except not going to see 
Will when he was at home, wounded; and he drew his 
already erect form up proudly in resistance to what he 
thought an outrage. 

*T command you to quit my premises, at once," he 
said sternly in answer to the exclamations that came 
from the crowd. 

“What did you keep here a pack of guerrilla out- 
laws for?” asked Jack. 

“I never kept any; but whose business is it, if I 
di^i?" Morris asked defiantly. “This is my own place, 
earned by hard work; and I’ll keep whom I please, 
and when I please, without consulting a gang of out- 
laws like you. I wish there were a few guerrillas here 
now; you would not be so bold." 

He had denied it, but the very manner of the denial 
irritated the crowd to almost frenzy. They didn’t be- 
lieve he spoke the truth, he passed on too quickly; 

n 


258 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


then he had insinuated they were cowards and called 
them outlaws. 

A hubbub ensued in which could be heard cries of 
"Shoot him! ’’ "Hang him!” "Make way with him!" 

’Twas a grand spectacle, and one that showed how 
Will’s bravery was truly inherited from his father as 
well as his mother — this white-haired old man facing 
an excited mob, without any signs of emotion what- 
ever, except his dark looks and tense muscles. Such 
was the sight that met Floy’s eyes as she bounded into 
the crowd as if she had just sprung from the ground at 
their feet. 

' Back, ruffians, how dare you threaten the father of 
the one-armed soldier who has only been gone three 
weeks! You wouldn’t have dared do such a thing as 
this when he was here! You cowards! you’re afraid to 
go to the war, but you’re wondrous brave when there’s 
a whole set of your lawless selves, to threaten an old 
man unarmed! But you shall not touch him! I’ll de- 
fend him with my life!” and she stepped daringly in 
front of him, her spirited little body drawn up to its 
full height, a look of proud scorn flashing from her 
eyes. 

Every man withered before her — silence fell for a full 
minute. 

Finally, Sam’l Cline rallied and asked: 

"Are we going to allow this girl to drive us off? 
Are we going to permit him to harbor guerrillas when 
he pleases and go unpunished?” 

“He never harbored any guerrillas, unless it was you, 
last fall, when you stole his apples! You are the 
nearest to one I know of. Wh}'^, you’d run from a reb- 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


259 


el’s old coat if you were alone! ’’ Floy flashed indig- 
nantly. 

The crowd was falling back, feeling a profound re- 
spect and admiration for the brave young girl who so 
daringly confronted them. 

Dr. Osborne arrived at this point and told them that 
the guerrillas had not stayed there; for Floy had been 
there in the morning when the}^ passed, Aunt Polly had 
told him so. That was enough, and they walked off 
feeling and looking decidedly as if "some one had 
blundered." All turned abruptly but Jack Riley, who 
came up to Floy to acknowledge "they had been a set 
of fools.” 

"I feel like kicking myself all over this place for 
having any hand in this disgraceful affair," he added. 
"We ought to have held up, on your account anyhow. 
You’d ought to be a general, Floy. Forgive me and 
shake hands, won’t you?" he said. Floy did not deign 
to make a reply of any kind, but turned and went into 
the house sobbing like a child. 


CHAPTER XIX* 


CLASS OF ’64 

To Floy this visit was a stunning blow. Will had 
just turned away from the comforts of Elm Cottage, 
leaving his old mother weeping in the doorway. Put. 
ting his wife’s clinging form gently away from him at 
the station as the bell rang, and hastily kissing Baby 
Gwen again and again, he had given her into Floy’s 
arms with this last trusting charge : 

“Take care of them, darling little sister — God bless 
you!” Then he had hurried on board to be borne away, 
as fast as the panting iron steed could bear him, to the 
aid of the daring men facing death for the tottering 
Union. 

She had wept bitterly at the parting, but her native 
patriotism had thrilled with girlish pride; she had 
thought that this sacrifice surely atoned for her father’s 
disloyal principles and even for Hiram’s joining the 
rebels. But when, so soon after Will had gone, her 
father had been wrongfully accused and almost lynched 
by those who had once been his friends, Floy’s usually 
buoyant spirits failed to rebound. She loved her 
father and felt that Will’s friends ought not to have 
been so ready to persecute him. 

Then, while the world looked the darkest she had 
ever known it, Grace lay so pale and in such fevered 
wildness — caused by brain fever, the doctor said — that 

360 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


261 


once they thought they must send for Will; or indeed 
might have to write him the dreadful tidings that would 
crush every hope from his brave spirit. But God gave 
her back to bless and cheer them, and the sunshine 
began to have its old warmth and light. 

Floy had been out of school ’while Grace was sick, 
keeping Baby Gwen down to the Osborne home as 
much as possible. When she re-entered school ’twas 
not with her old-time vim. The class had lost 
much of its enthusiasm and was drifting along, idly 
resting on the oars plied with such vigor at the first of 
the year. Prof. Baker had been its inspiration, and 
when he had left, the class had felt the shock which 
every enterprise, every field of business, would have 
felt with its main-spring withdrawn. Would it rally 
in time to keep up the fame of 'Mapleton commence- 
ments? Could soldier’s daughters, sons and sisters 
carry off school-honors amid the dread and confusion 
of the waiting time? Brave sons and daughters they 
were, and could face hard conditions; but — ! 

Prof. Hull was a thorough teacher and very schol- 
arly; so, when they all got back again in the class- 
room, old plans grew as fascinating as ever, and the 
old-time ambition — to come through with flying colors 
— awoke. 

“If Harry Osborne were here,” said Guy one day 
when the geometry class “went off on a tangent,” as 
Floy expressed it, and discussed “the exercises;” “if 
Harry were here he’d never fag out. He don’t throw 
down his gun and run without firing. I’ll wager! No 
back down for Harry. ” 

“The old tattered flag he stood by so bravely proves 


262 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


that, don’t it?” said Floy warmly as she drew the figure 
for demonstration of theorem 39, on the board. 

“Or the gold medal you wear so constantly, either!” 
put in Emma Burton, with a smile at Floy’s high color. 

If Floy blushed ’twas an extraordinary event, for she 
usually had an "answer on the end of her tongue,” the 
girls claimed. 

"As you’d like to do awfully well, but you can’t! 
And you can’t prove this square equal to the sum of 
those two,” Floy said, making the chalk fly. 

"Now, say, folks, let’s plan some more; just as well 
arrange for our exercises now .as later. Prof. Hull will 
make it a point to have us finish the brain part in 
good shape',” said Sue Clayton. 

"That’s what! " said Floy, "and let’s be systematic 
about it and make the time count; we talk at random 
too much. What selections are made for the final 
brain effort?” 

"Don’t say final effort; ’tis just the commencement 
you know. We’ll be heard from in stranger, terser 
terms than our school-exercises can be,” said Guy en- 
thusiastically, for Guy expected to enter college the 
next year. 

"How about the Valedictory and Salutatory?” asked 
Emma, a little anxiously. 

"Speak low, that’s the dead line!” said Guy tragic- 
ally; "think how many classes have gone down in 
trying to get over that question.” 

The class of ’63 had some hard feelings about the 
places of honor, and, in previous conversations, the 
’64’s had vowed they would have no honors rather than 
have a member feel treated unjustly. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


2G3 


"Justltia fiat, coelwn ruai,” Fred Hollingsworth wrote 
on the board. "That’s what Harry wrote in Guy’s last 
letter, and said he’d like to hear we took the class 
record and its standing now, as an examination would 
show, for the place of honor.” 

"Of course he knows who would get it then,” said 
Emma, "since he’s gone. ' 

"Everybody else knows too; and that very fact shows 
who it should be,” said Guy with brightened color. 
"But we don’t need to dfscuss the matter, for Prof. 
Hull is decided enough to assign the places, and let’s 
ask him to do so now, for this is the 5th of April, and 
we have not too much time if v/e begin our exercises 
at once.” 

At the next recess, the class went in a body to hear 
the Professor’s opinion. 

In the meantime. May Clayton had whispered to 
Emma: 

"I think you should have the Valedictory, for you’d 
dress so nicely and do it so well.” Lida Snow agreed 
with her — for Lida agreed with anybody she was with 
— and Emma thought perhaps it would be a good plan. 

But when Guy told him "we would like to select 
subjects for our graduating exercises, and would like to 
know who is to take the honors, ” the Professor gave a 
quick glance at the faces, and answered unhesitatingly: 

"Why, the class-honors must be awarded to the one 
winning them. You might have a special examination, 
but the records for the year point to Miss Floy Mor- 
ris as ranking first and Guy Harrington as ranking 
second. Miss Floy would of course be your Valedicto- 
rian and Guy would have the Salutator3^ ” 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


2f)4 

“Perhaps, though, we’d better pass an examination 
now in all but just the branches still unfinished,” said 
Floy, "and take our grades from it.” 

“O no, let’s leave that until the end of the term and 
have it all together!” said Marne; "the resul twould be 
just the same, we all know.” 

The rest thought so too, and really all knew the 
work had decided the question, and Floy had won the 
place. 

Month after month. Prof. Baker had read to the 
school the grades, as the written and the oral examina- 
tions, alternating each month, had shown them; and 
the class had expected Floy Morris to rank i, as Launce- 
lot had been expected to win the tournament prize. 
In vain did the Professor tell them "Floy is rank i 
this month, but next month someone else may be." 

If the others were inspired to do their best, so was 
Floy, and the next month showed the same result. But 
now if every one wasn’t satisfied — perfectly satisfied — 
Floy didn’t want the Valedictory; and she would draw 
cuts for it quite willingly, as she once proposed. 

But the question was settled, and settled quite hap- 
pily in that recess; plans for programmes, decorations, 
subjects of orations and dress, began to be proposed. 

Aunt Polly felt a justifiable pride in Floy, and that 
night patted her on the head as she used to do when as 
a “little toddler” she came home with the head-mark. 
Will wrote her a good big brotherly letter telling her 
of the new duty the higher place gave her if she would 
make the rest of the class feel all right. 

“Don’t put on airs, puss!” he wrote; "he who wins 
the laurels can afford to be very gracious. The 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


2C5 


surest mark of a truly great man is his humility! ” 

But Aaron Morris was the most pleased od all. Floy 
was all the old life left him, he thought; and though 
he knew she believed as did her mother and Will about 
the war, he knew she loved her father and believed 
him true and honest in his convictions. 

Harvey’s children came sometimes to see him and 
eat apples, and were in a measure a comfort; but Floy 
clung to him through home-bitterness and public cen- 
sure; she ran down to cheer his solitude, when Elm 
Cottage wore its happiest face; she never forgot to do 
her usual chores for him, even when they were prepar- 
ing to go to some place of amusement, or were anxious 
to hear from the son he never went to seek news from. 

Floy was his pride, almost the one thing connecting 
him with life away from his own fireside and himself. 
While Will was at home she had still come, though 
never speaking a word about the wounded man; and 
when he again took his place in the field, only her sad 
face and slower step told him the bitter pang the 
good-bye had cost her. He had been unusually kind 
to her then; for it grieved him to see her sad, he told 
himself, even if he had no thought for Will. 

One day, soon after the preferred places had been 
arranged, Aaron Morris learned down at the store that 
his Floy was to have the first place of the class; and 
it made a thrill of pride wake in his heart he thought 
’twas impossible for him to feel again. 

"She could beat them all; Judge Burton’s girl, Har- 
rington’s boy and anyone else in the class; she always 
could,” he chuckled, as he wended his way down the 
homeward road, and brought from memory’s garret a 


266 


IVHAT 17 COST; OR 


picture of a tiny little girl in checked gingham pina- 
fore and pink sun-bonnet, running down the path to 
meet him on an evening, as he came from work — run- 
ning with a smiling face and sparkling eye, and who, 
taking his hand, would so often say, "I got the head- 
mark again, papa!" and in the pleased look, half-shy, 
half-glad, as he praised her, he thought he caught pure 
sunshine. 

Through the trees he saw a slender little figure com- 
ing down the orchard-path, and he touched up old 
"Kit.” "Gee up. Kit,” that he might reach the kitchen- 
porch by the time she did. 

"Hallo there, little Valedictorian," he called as she 
came flitting round the corner, and up to the spring 
wagon, and he drew up rein in front of the porch, where 
Tabby lay purring contentedly to welcome her friends. 

"Why didnH you tell me you were ahead of the 
hull lot of ^em?” 

"Oh, I supposed you’d know that, it’s so much like 
my father, you know!” and Floy laughed merrily. 
"You always taught me that self-praise was half scan- 
dal; and that good would eke out as well as bad; and 
here you’ve heard it already. I expect I would have 
told you this evening anyhow; for it wouldn’t keep 
much longer. What did you get that is good?” as she 
took the parcels he handed her. 

"Coffee, sugar and crackers, my usual rations. But 
here” — and he handed her a larger package — "is a new 
calico dress because you took the prize place, and 
what’s more you shall have the finest dress of the hull 
lot of ’em when you go to say your piece, the night 
you get yer sheep-skin!" 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


367 


“Take care! don’t mention dress; for that’s a ten- 
der subject with us girls just now,” and Floy leaned 
over the porch-railing with knit brow. “Guess it would 
be a hard matter to out-dress Emma Burton; and I 
wouldn’t want to be silly enough to try, if I could do 
it, with” — she was going to say — “our boys facing dan- 
gers, and people actually suffering for bread at our 
door,” but she knew it would only open the old gash, 
and what was the use? “Times are too hard,” she 
finished. 

He understood, in part, the thought, and counted 
the fact of her stopping in her say, as obedience to his 
wish of silence on the war subject. 

“You shall ‘do it! I vow it, and Aaron Morris never 
did try to do a thing that he backed down on! You 
find out what the finery will cost, and Pll foot the 
bill, if it takes the farm! Gee up. Kit!” 

Floy stood a full minute looking steadily at the old 
oak which spread its huge branches in a protecting way 
o’er the porch, and now was putting forth its tiny leaves 
and buds to greet the coming birds; but other pictures 
were flitting through Floy’s usually practical brain. 

“’Twould be a triumph to have a gorgeous dress. 
Emma has told the Clayton girls she should have 
white silk or satin with lace-drapery, white kid gloves 
and boots! 

“My! wouldn’t it be fine to have an armor like that! 
One could certainly bring down the house; and ’twould 
be so nice to keep it for future generations to see, and 
draw from it visions of the grand graduation it repre- 
sented!” She soliloquized excitedly: “Emma thinks 
she’ll make up in dress, for not getting to deliver the 


268 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Valedictory! well that’s all right!” Then a sober look 
took the place of the sparkling one, and the head so 
erect was bent to one side thoughtfully, as another 
point was reached. 

"No, I’ll not be silly and downright mean too,” she 
said half aloud. "Sue and May Clayton haven’t a 
father here at home, whose work can buy them dresses, ” 
and there arose before her mind’s eye a vision of a 
brave soldier tramping along on the "March to the 
sea” while two little daughters, his pride, far away in 
their Northern home, were shedding bitter tears, because 
their dresses looked shabby beside the fine ones. And 
even Marne, the dearest girl in the world, wouldn’t feel 
good in a plainer dress than I; and she wouldn’t have 
to wear one if John was here, perhaps,” she said turn, 
ing quickly. "No, I’ll not do it. I’d feel too mean. 
Soldiers’ girls’ tears would take every bit of the starch 
out of the handsome frock.” 

Then she flew into the pantry and set the sponge 
for light-bread, the errand she had come to perform 
working the faster to make up for lost time. Then 
she donned her hat for Elm Cottage. Her father came 
in, and she told him about her decision. 

"I’m just as much obliged to you, my indulgent 
papa, but I know Pd feel happier and really be better, 
to dress simply, and as all the girls can. Then no one 
will feel bad, and we’ll finish in unison as we’ve 
always worked. Thank you all the same.” 

The old man was surprised at first, for he thought a 
girl of sixteen would hardly be equal to making such 
a sacrifice of dress; but though a little disappointed 
he was prouder than ever of his little girl, and told her 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


269 


so in words which made the roses spring into bloom 
on her cheeks, and she went out laughing: 

"Faith an’ ye ’ave licked the blarney stone sure! 
I’m paid now any effort it cost; I didn’t care much any- 
way! Good night!” and away she went, thinking how 
she’d propose to the girls next day that they should 
‘wear plain white swiss-muslin,or something they could 
all get easily, and put the extra thought on their 
papers. 

Aunt Polly and Grace judged her plan a good one; 

"’Twould be cruel to wound one of these girls, at 
this time above all times,” said Aunt Polly. "To 
have your piece good and say it nice, will be better’ n 
to wear fine toggery. What air you goin’ to take for 
a subject?" 

“Well I can’t decide, quite; there’s too many good 
ones. The ‘class-motto,’ I guess, though, will be my 
theme~-‘We live to learn — We love to learn’ — if Marne 
don’t want it. ‘We have crossed the bay and the 
ocean lies before us,’ sounds pretty good; and I’ve 
wasted three papers of fly leaves from my botany upon 
it.” 

"My, that is good, I’m sure, Floy! Why not just 
take that one?” said Grace, "’twould be easy to^ bring 
the Valedictory right in connection with it.” 

"They do seem to blend — school-days the sheltered 
bay where we learn to sail, and learn, through old 
‘salts,’ as they come in from the great deep ocean, 
what it holds, the dangers in crossing it, the various 
streams traversing it,” said Floy thinking aloud, "equip- 
ments, etc. Well, I’ll try an outline of it. The rest 
of the class are puzzled o’er a subject too, on which 


270 


IVH/IT IT COST: OR 


to vent their best thoughts. You see we’re so limited 
in supplies, that only certain topics will fit the thoughts 
we have! Guy will do splendidly, I know. His topic 
is, ‘Whence came I? whither do I go?’ I want Marne 
to take, ‘What shall we do with our girls?’ But I 
must get something jotted down! Hers goes on the 
class-motto,” and in the busy hours of thinking, waiting, 
erasing, and scolding because the ideas would not be 
connected, all thoughts of the white silk and lace 
draperies, were obliterated. 

Next day it all came back, when, at noon, the girls 
were grouped in the study, on coming back from din- 
ner. After running over their Latin translations — 
going off on many a “tangent” in the meanwhile, the 
old subjects of essays, decorations and dress were 
reverted to as naturally as ducks turn to the pond. 

“What are you all going to wear, girls?” asked 
Emma. “Pa said last night that if Pd work my very 
best on school-work, and get up a number-one paper 
on “Law and matter,” I might have any dress I wanted. 
He said that was of little consequence. He’d like my 
old gray flannel home-dress quite as well as a new silk. ” 
But the toss she gave her blonde head proved his daugh- 
ter was wiser in worldly lore. “Pllhave a royal one if 
Pm at liberty to choose, and so I told m}^ respected sire!” 

“Well, I know we can’t have very expensive dresses, 
though mother said we’d do our utmost pinching to 
scrape up something pretty,” and Sue Clayton tapped 
the table nervously with her lead pencil. “If father 
were only at home,” she began sadly but the big tears 
were pressed proudly back. “I don’t care, anyway, so 
we’re neat and tastily dressed!" 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


271 


Floy put her arm round her involuntarily, saying, 
"You’d look pretty in anything; see these curls,” hold- 
ing up a long brown tress. "Nature has done so much 
for you; and May’s voice, as she sings the class-song, 
will win her laurels." 

Lida Snow and Maud Weir had drawn off to the 
window and were talking in low tones; Floy knew they 
were puzzled o’er where their dresses would come 
from. 

"Ma opened her heart last night,” said ^Mame from 
her perch on the table, "and also the old chest of 
relics, and brought out her wedding dress, which she 
said I could make over — and it’s pale-blue silk!" 

Exclamations of "oh!” and "that would be lovely!” 
came from the girls. 

"Of course it won’t compare with Emma’s, but ’twill 
make over nicely, for the goods are not cut up, and 
scarcely soiled.” Then she added with a laugh. "She 
said she was keeping it for my wedding-dress, but I 
could have it now, if I wanted it. And I do, for it 
would be all yellow with age before it served at the 
altar, if ever I should be so unfortunate as to need a 
gown for such a purpose.” The girls exchanged smil- 
ing glances. 

"It can serve the double purpose and won’t be out 
of style either, I surmise, if the soldiers come home 
soon,” said Emma. "What are you going to wear, 
Floy?" 

Floy was puzzled; she had meant to talk with Emma 
alone first, and get her to be willing to dress like the 
rest, before proposing her plan. 

"Well, I hardly know,” she began hesitatingly. 


S72 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“You’ve thought of something, of course. You look 
so well in red and black, it’s a pity it’s summer.” 
Floy thought she detected a little condescension in 
Emma’s tone as she went on: “Our Valedictorian 
must look nice. ” 

“Don’t give yourself any uneasiness about Floy’s 
looking well!” said Marne, a tinge of indignation in 
the tone, for Marne resented a seeming insult to Floy 
instantly. “She’ll lead the class if she wears her dark 
calico! ” and the queenly figure by the table, drawn up 
proudly, supposing Emma meant to be patronizing, 
did show that the Valedictory wouldn’ t suffer from the 
person of the Valedictorian, whether clad in muslin 
or in satin. 

For a moment all the good intentions of sparing the 
other girls vanished; and she thought: 

“Fll have the silk dress! Father is willing and Fll 
outshine Emma if I can! ” but Sue gave her hand a 
squeeze just then, thinking Floy was worried just as 
she had been; and her better self came to her rescue. 

“Girls, we’re making a mistake by wasting time and 
worrying o’er the trivial matter of dress, when our 
ambition to finish our school-work in good shape, and 
to have orations profound and pointed — which would 
be a real honor to us — should engross our principal 
attention. Let’s not fall into the old rut — making 
commencement exercises a dress parade! But in 
simple dress let’s show the mental part of us to advan- 
tage.” 

“That’s what! three cheers for simplicity and good 
sense,” cried Guy as the boys came hurrying in from 
the base-ball ground. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


273 


"Hear! hear! ” shouted the other two. 

"Now, you boys don’t understand this consultation 
at all, so can take seats in the gallery,” said Floy. 

■‘Whence we can applaud or hiss at pleasure?” asked 
Guy. “We’ll judge. ” “Well, what’s up? ” “Go ahead. ” 

“Oh, I guess we’re through,” said Floy; “only, girls, 
I think we’d look nicer as a class and all feel better, 
to all dress alike in white Swiss or muslin, each with 
her own trmimings of course of ribbons and flowers — 
and the boys in black.” 

“For a background, I suppose,” put in Guy, with 
feigned indignation. 

All eyes were turned on Emma, who didn’t try to 
conceal her disapproval of the plan. 

“Fm quite willing,” said Marne. “It would be a 
good plan; nothing is prettier than pure white,” 
(thinking the blue silk would keep, perhaps). 

“Well, I’m not willing to do anything of the kind! 
It’s selfish of Floy to ask it,” Emma began quickly, 
“just because she can’t have what she’d like is no 
reason she should ask us all to sacrifice an opportu- 
nity to graduate in real style. Everybody knows it’s 
a custom old as the sheepskins themselves, for rich 
dresses to be worn if they can be secured. Here father 
has offered to get me a silk dress; shall I refuse it be- 
cause all can’t have one? The whole class don’t need 
to look bankrupt because each member can’t afford to 
dress well! I’ll not do it — it’s selfish to ask it!” 

Emma put on a face full of righteous indignation, 
and even Marne thought there was reason in what she 
said. The boys in the gallery neither “applauded” 
nor “hissed," but watched Floy’s face, which was a 

f8 


274 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


study for a few moments; for the charge of selfishness 
was too much, and Floy’s eyes flashed as Emma fin- 
ished. 

“It wasn’t selfishness that prompted the proposal. I 
could have a silk dress too, if I chose to do so!” 
Questioning eyes greeted this assertion. “My father 
told me so last night," she quoted. “As nice as any 
in the class, and nicer too, he said, flf it took the 
farm!’ So there!” 

Applause now came from the boys, and the girls all 
looked pleased at Emma’s discomfiture. 

“But really I’d rather wear the simple white muslin; 
think it would be more becoming in this time of suffer- 
ing and sorrow, when our own friends are exposed to 
danger and our neighbors wanting comfortable clothing 
and food; we don’t have to go away from home to find 
examples of hard times, either. What do you say to 
this? '■ 

The bell for the senior Latin rang, and the class 
went to recitation without hearing further; but that 
evening Emma joined the others, who had agreed to 
wear white Swiss anyway, and let her take the silk and 
lace if she choose, with a face which showed that the 
“angel side” had triumphed. 

“I’ve concluded to be good too, girls; Floy, you 
were right about this being a poor time to put on airs, 
and I’ll wear white muslin or anything you all say." 

“Goody!” “Good!" came in chorus, while Floy said 
“Bravo! shake!” which was done with a vim. “Em- 
ma’s heart is all right, and I wanted the silk at first, 
too.” 

“You see I’m going to Aunt Hilda’s on a visit next 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


275 


fall, and I thought ’twould be so nice for an evening- 
dress,” said Emma, "but I rather think pa will fix me 
out in shape then, anyway. He’ll be so pleased at 
my doing what he calls the ‘sensible thing’ now, that 
he’ll fit me out quite handsomely for the visit to 
Springfield. So you see I’ll make something by giving 
up,” she said smilingly. "I’m not such a goody-goody 
girl after all, am I?” 

The breach was now quite healed, and forgotten in 
the busy days which followed. Nothing short of a 
thorough understanding of each subject as shown by 
a rigid examination would ever satisfy Prof. Hull, and 
the class being fully aware of it, worked hard. 

A long letter from Prof. Baker, full of encourage- 
ment, came, giving many incentives to finish grandly a 
work so well begun. It gave a word to each on his or 
her exercise. Very precious the words seemed from the 
faithful teacher, teaching now by precept this lesson in 
civil government, that true patriotism sometimes de- 
mands the sacrifice of individual interests for the wel- 
fare of the masses and the perpetuity of the nation. 
The letter was “to the class of 1864," but after it had 
been read and re-read, shown to Prof. Hull, and many 
of the villagers, it was left at Judge Burton’s, acci- 
dentally of course, and Emma kindly put it in her own 
private box of relics. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE COMMENCEMENT 

The 5th of June came, with abundance of flowers 
and sunshine. On the evening of the 4th, the decora- 
tion of the hall had been completed. A miniature 
Eden it looked, in its profusion of floral designs and 
house-plants, generously lent by all the flower-loving 
dames of the village. Mrs. Osborne’s stately Calla- 
lily bowed graciously to Mrs. Burton’s tuberoses and 
smiled a warm greeting to the happy-faced pansies 
that looked up from its pedestal. O’er the center 
of the rostrum, and extending from side to side, was 
an arch, bearing in large gold letters the class-motto: 
“We live to learn — We love to learn,” in simple 
English letters, that the audience might understand it. 
From its center was suspended a floral horse-shoe; be- 
hind the arch were arranged, in a semi-circle, seats for 
the class, while to the right, seats for the alumni, and 
on the left, amid the flowers, the speaker was to stand 
while delivering his oration; almost beneath it, they 
would stand to receive from Doctor Osborne, still the 
president of the board, their diplomas; then sing the 
class-song — “The Old Door-step.” May Clayton had 
been drilled by Grace to sing the solo, and the class 
would all sing the chorus. 

The morning of the commencement day, the 64’ s 
were to rehearse at the hall with Prof. Hull, and the 

276 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


277 


high school adjourned to prepare for the alumni re- 
ception in the high school room, as was the custom. 

Floy had her Oration and Valedictory well commit- 
ted; the simple white muslin, pure and spotless as the 
fair maiden’s soul, was all ready; and the plain gold 
pin her father gave her, white kid gloves and slippers, 
(the girls had got them out of the class-funds after 
much discussion) all were laid out on her table. 

But one thing worried her, and made her broad brow 
knit thoughtfully, as she went down the meadow-path 
and through the orchard, her soft brown hair floating 
unhindered in the morning breeze, swinging her broad- 
brimmed hat in her hand. A sweet picture she made 
that rivaled the brightness of the sparkling blades and 
leaves, despite the knit brow and preoccupied look. 
Floy wanted, more than she could tell, for her father 
to hear the exercises. She had asked him, in her 
most winning way, to attend, and “just this one 
time” to go out from his seclusion; but he had sternly 
refused, saying she could speak her piece for him there. 

“I’ll ask him once more,” she said, as she finished 
her work in the cave and turned the knob of the kitch- 
en-door where he sat at breakfast. 

“Come in, blossom, and take a cup of coffee with 
me,” he said, making room for another plate. “I 
didn’t know you were down yet.” 

“No; I can’t stop, but I want something, and you 
must grant it, papa," stroking the gray hair fondly 
as she stood by his side. 

“Name it and ’tis yours, to the half of my kingdom.” 
he answered cheerfully. 

“Well, I want you — I must have you. I want you to 


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come to-night to hear our papers. Now please, please 
do! you won^t refuse me? I’d rather have it than 
twenty silk dresses! ” 

The aged face flushed, and the voice quivered slight- 
ly as he answered: 

“I can’t do that, Floy; I’ve vowed to never meet 
these hard, unjust people, whom I once called friends 
and treated fair and square, again in any way, that 
they might for a moment think I was courting friend- 
ship or cared for their companionship. No: I’ll mix 
in no public gatherings and be treated like I was a 
snake, just because I stick to my honest principles and 
don’t follow the crowd. Don’t cry, child; I’d like to 
please you," a softened look coming over his wrinkled 
features at the sight of the girl’s troubled face. 

"Why live like a hermit, father, and never go to 
church nor anywhere? why should you care if people 
with whom you can’t agree, treat you coolly? If you 
feel sure you’re right, let them stand aloof if they 
choose; the world is big enough for all to do and think 
their own way! If you’re in the wrong, if you’ve any 
doubt that you are, then, for the love of heaven, get 
right! You wouldn’ t enjoy talking with those who differ 
from you in opinion a bit more than they with you! 
then why care for them if they only do let you alone?” 

Floy was terribly in earnest, and every one of her 
words spoke volumes of pent-up feelings. 

"That’s so! if people make me keep my distance, 
thank heaven! they keep theirs at the same time!” he 
said, pleased at the thought.* "I don’t care! what’s 
the odds to me? I’d love to hear you say your piece, 
and I guess I’ll go! ” 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


279 


"Good, good! Pll be perfectly happy then!" and she 
hurried away, lest he’d put in an "if,” looking back 
from the porch to say: "I don’t think I can spare the 
time to run in again to-day, but I’ll look for you at 
the hall. ’’ 

And as she darted down the path she didn’ c hear 
the husky — "God bless her! I couldn’t live without 
her!” as the old man turned to his lonely meal. 

That night, the village people were astonished, and 
nudges and whisperings all through the crowd plainly 
expressed the fact, as old Aaron Morris with proud, 
almost defiant bearing, entered the hall and took a 
seat near the door; but toward the front, for Aaron 
Morris "didn’t take a back seat;” he was "neither 
ashamed of himself nor his clothes.” Many eyes were 
involuntarily turned toward the seat where Aunt Polly 
sat with Mrs. Osborne, Grace, and Gwen. Aunt Polly 
tried to look unconcerned, and fought hard to quell 
the tumult within, as she sat for the first time since 
that memorable 4th of July beneath the same roof as 
Aaron Morris. He was still her husband, and the tears 
would hardly stay out of sight as she thought why 
they were both there — to see their only daughter fin- 
ish the school-work both had encouraged her to begin 
— her baby and his! How often in the happy long-ago 
had they come together to hear her do her part in 
school-exhibitions; here together they had sat only 
four years ago and listened to Will’s oration, and now 
— but Aunt Polly choked back her tears. "Folks 
shouldn’t pry into her feelings,” she thought, and fum- 
bled in her pocket for a cookey for Gwen, who was 
waving her little hand in greeting, and calling, "That’s 


280 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


my danpa! Mornin m’y danpa! Gib thatin baby 
more appety!” But presently the door was thrown 
wide open, and Prof. Hull ushered in the class of ’64 
amid applause, leading them down the aisle — the 
girls in white muslin as agreed, but variously adorned 
with ribbons and flowers — to their places on the ros- 
trum. 

Emma felt dressed after all, for her aunt had sent 
her a pearl necklace, and pearls for her hair. Floy 
wore no ribbons nor colors, only the plain gold pin at 
her throat, but the daintiest cluster of strange white 
flowers in her belt and another just like them in her 
hair, “They didn’t grow in thi svillage, ” the girls com- 
mented, and ’twas true; but far away on the banks 
of the Tennessee they had been gathered and arranged 
by a fair-haired boy in blue, tenderly arranged to be- 
deck his brown-haired school-mate. 

Doctor Osborne had brought up to the cottage the 
afternoon’s mail, a letter from Will and one for Floy — 
they all knew who wrote it of course — and a curious 
little box which Floy took to her room to open. There 
she found the delicate blossoms, fresh and fragrant 
still, being wrapped in tinfoil, though maded a full 
week before. Again and again she kissed them — they 
were so pretty, you know — and never forgot the giver 
in appreciating the gift, when during the evening she 
espied them. When the class marched to their places 
and stood beneath the arch, they joined with the alum- 
ni and the school, seated at the right below the stage, 
in singing a medley of their own school, comic and 
home songs, wh'ch brought applause from the house. 

A string-band of twenty pieces, from Belmont, 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


281 


furnished the instrumental music for the evening. 

Guy stepped out, and in a bright, easy Salutatory, 
welcomed the audience, nor forgot to tell of the “absent 
member of the class, gone in the ranks of the brave 
defenders, at his country's call for men — the man 
within his boyish form roused to defend the right and 
succor the cause of the oppressed! ” 

Long and loud were the shouts of applause at this 
loving tribute. Then Guy delivered the oration, deep, 
full of good thoughts, tersely and tellingly expressed 
— “Whence came I — Whither do 1 go?” — showing that 
the God-like soul of man must live and grow through 
endless ages. And the other orations displayed con- 
centrated thought and were delivered in an easy, fluent 
style. Even bashful Lida Snow, who had declared she 
should forget every word of her exercise even if she 
could utter a sound, soon wore off the first embarrass- 
ment and did not break down, after all. 

When Floy, from beneath the arch, glanced round 
at the packed house, her eyes dwelt longest on that 
lone form near the door; and she bowed to it so 
markedly that many a kindly thought was given him. 

She had chosen for the subject of her oration: “We 
have crossed the bay; the ocean lies before us!” and 
she portrayed their hitherto protected school and home- 
life, as the sheltered, smooth bay, where they had 
learned a little of the sailing art and been taught from 
older mariners, who had been out on the wide treasure- 
hiding ocean, something of its dangers, the currents 
which are safest and swiftest, and to what goal they 
led. With her face aglow with hope for a successful 
voyage, to more than the old man, whose face shone 


282 


IVH/tT IT COST; OR 


with hers, she seemed quite equal to launching and 
facing whatever danger, or gathering any treasure, 
found in an unknown sea. Then, as the voice faltered 
in the last words to “Old friends, teachers and class- 
mates,” the tears came from a sympathetic audience. 
She also paid a tribute to the member who sailed 
away on the “war-ship,” learning of life in its hard- 
est, saddest phase, but nobly discharging the duty of 
a patriotic, high-souled man. Her own eye-lashes 
were wet with tears that did not fall, as she finished 
with : 

“Class-mat^s, our lives now drift apart. We leave 
the shelter of this loved school and launch into an 
untried world; and, never again, perhaps, on the 
stream of time, may we hail each other. But in the 
great Hereafter, on the shores of Eternity may we be 
reunited, to sound together greater depths than mortal 
e’er dreamed of, and the Master himself be the Cap- 
tain. ” 

After the “class-song,” the class went to the high 
school reception — Floy stopping to invite her father, 
as she passed him. He shook his head determinedly, 
but noticed with pleasure that she carried but one 
small bouquet, selected from the heap laid at her feet 
— a bunch of yellow roses which had grown on the old 
bush by her play-house at the old home. He thought 
she would recognize them; and that she did so pleased 
him immensely. 


CHAPTER XXI 


"old yaller” 

"Marse Tip, here^s a note from Ginrul T — to yer; 
he sent me round wif it, cose he’ s mighty busy, now I 
tell yer! ’Spect he wants yer to took his place few 
days, cose I heern him say yer could drive his hoss; but 
I tells yer now yer got ter be mighty keerful, fur dat 
dar hoss am jist de old Nick hisself, when de Ginrul 
hant got ’im." And Darkey Pete, with head thrown 
back, and thumbs in his vest-pockets, sauntered back 
singing: "And we’ll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple 

tree. ’’ 

Harry quickly opened the note, and after reading the 
few words, put on his cap and started for General 
T — ’s head-quarters. 

"Well, general, I received your note, and have 
come to see in what way I can serve you," said Harry 
upon entering the office. 

"Take a seat, Harry, I’ll be through in a minute,” 
said General T — , and went on with his writing. 

"I tell yer me and the ginrul is kep mighty busy 
now; yaas indeed, moighty busy!" said Pete, as he 
gave a deep breath; "’pears as if Abe Link likes us’ ns. ’’ 

"Now Harry I’ll tell you what we want," said Gen- 
eral T — , facing about. "We want somebody with the 
face and form of a woman, but with the heart and 

283 


284 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


nerve of a David, to go into the camp of the Confed- 
erates, and find out about how strong they are, and 
what they are doing. I told Sherman that I thought 
the 7th Iowa could furnish the very boy. You can 
have Old Yaller to ride; but don’t go if you don’t want 
to, for ’tis a dangerous trip, and, as I said, will require 
the courage of a David going to meet a Goliath.” 

“If you say, 'go’. I’ll try, of course; and if some one 
has to take the chances why not I as well as anybody 
else?” said Harry; looking proud at the confidence 
his general placed in him. 

‘‘You’ll have to dress as a woman and ride into their 
camp inquiring for somebody. Old Yaller looks like 
an old farm-horse, when he’s not excited, so he will 
give them no suspicion; but he’s got the speed and en- 
durance to bring you to camp in a hurry, if need be. 
’Tis about fifteen miles away, and you’re to start 
about three o’clock in the morning.” 

Full preparations were made that night, and the 
next morning at the appointed hour, Harry, accom- 
panied by Col. Morris, was at General T — ’stent ready 
for duty. 

“Whoa! What yer doin’, hey? whoa dar now!” 
bawled out Pete to the horse, as he led him before the 
tent. 

“Old Yaller” had been captured in Kentucky, in the 
opening of the war; and, though at first sight he 
would be taken for a very ordinary horse, to the edu- 
cated horseman’s eye he revealed some fine marks 
rarely seen so well developed in horses outside of the 
Blue-grass State. 

He was rather longer than the majority of thorough- 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR' 


285 


bred horses of his kind, and wore a different coat; and, 
though having an officer’s outfit on when captured, he 
had not been looked upon with enough favor to be given 
a high-sounding name, but was called by the name sug- 
gested by his hue — "Yaller. ” After a hard ride or two, 
in which ne showed his superior “stuff,” he had re- 
ceived the honorable appellation of “Old Yaller. ' 
General T — soon took a strong liking for the horse, 
and caressed and petted him a great deal, which favor 
was appreciated by the knowing horse, and soon taught 
him to be mischievous and contrary with anyone else 
than his master. Pete, therefore, had come to consid- 
er Old Yaller as vicious and mean, and had done some 
loud talking to him outside, that Harry might take 
warning without being cautioned to his fate; but the 
loud exclamations only made Harry anxious to be up- 
on the horse’s back and on his journey. 

“Let him go,” said Harry, as General T — fitted his 
foot in the stirrup, and General Sherman let go his 
hand with: “Young Lord Lochinvar. ” 

“Be thoughtful now, Harry,” Will called out, and 
Pete said: “Pull yer dress up, little old woman, or 
dat dar ould hoss step on hit sure and sarten.” 

Old Yaller arched his neck and started off in a 
high gallop, like Harry had seen him do many times 
with the general when he held him with a tight rein. 

Harry had been up late the night before, getting 
things in readiness; had tried his dress on, fixed his 
switch, selected a pair of ladies shoes, and had had 
no time to think of the danger of the undertaking. 
He had not even thought of it after he stretched him- 
self out for the night, for when a soldier lays down 


286 


IVHAT IT COST; OP. 


he sleeps instead of worrying. But now he had noth- 
ing to do except thinking of the stern reality before 
him. 

“What am I but a spy?” said he to himself, “and 
the rule of war is to hang a spy, the minute his cap- 
tors get hands on him; but they haven’t got hands on 
me yet, have they, Old Yaller? Of course it would 
be an honorable death but I would prefer not to die 
with a rope around my neck. How could mother live 
if I too should get killed? Poor Clay’s death nearly 
broke her heart, I know; and there’s another one too 
— I wonder if she would weep if I was gone?” and 
he felt about him to make sure that the locket was 
still there. 

His road lay down a thickly wooded stream, 
through broad bottoms at times, and then again on 
high bluffs. 

Everything was quiet, save the ever-piping cricket 
and never-ceasing murmur of the stream. The ripple 
of the water over the stony riffle, or through the 
branches of the drift-wood, makes' nature’s sweetest 
music to the rambler on a spring afternoon; but to a 
boy, far from home, in the quiet of the night, and in 
an enemy’s country, ’tis a sound that grates harshly 
upon the ear. 

The bull frog kept up its continual “croak! croak! 
croak! ” while the owl would occasionally break in 
with “hoo! hoo! hoohoo!” as if warning him to 
turn back. 

Coming into a clear spot, or upon a knoll, at times, 
he could see the river spread its dusky and indistinct 
waste of waters below him, like a dark cloud among 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


287 


the still blacker ones of a storm. The low gusts of 
wind came chasing one another through the tall trees, 
causing them to bow their stately heads, or nod first 
this way, then that, as if in a quandary which to show 
the most respect to, the tall cliff on one side or bright old 
Jupiter, as he climbed the eastern horizon, as a herald 
of the coming day, on the other. The memory of three 
years of march and battle were dancing through his 
brain; then again, the thoughts of Clay^s death and 
the face in the locket seemed to haunt him, and cause 
his heart to throb with the dull sense of dread. 

"What’s that? ’’ and he drew the rein so tight that 
Old Yaller not only stopped but backed, to loosen the 
tension of the bridle. "Ha! ’tis but the grating of 
one limb against another — ’tis the North against the 
South, the slave power against the anti-slave power. 
I wonder if God will separate them; or will he permit 
them to go on wearing on each other until one must 
fall to the ground? One will die, the other live; but oh, 
how long will the ugly gash show where they clinched! ” 

The crowing of a cock in the distance reminded him 
that he was not in some uninhabited country, and 
awakened him from his reverie. He roused himself, and 
his heart beat high again as he recalled General T — ’s 
words: "It requires the courage of a David going to 
meet a Goliath.” 

"Come, Old Yaller, you may get the chance to show 
your metal yet before we get back; ’ and he patted his 
arched neck and stroked' his long silky mane, while 
the horse took a long easy gallop, as if he also ex- 
pected a trial of his speed and endurance, and was hus- 
banding his strength until needed. 


2S8 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Now the deep blue in the east was taking on a tinge 
of red and gold, and Harry knew that the beauties of 
night would soon fade away beneath the fierce glances 
of the big red sun. 

On he went, and now he even caroled a few notes 
of “Brightly beam tfie morning splendors, up-lift the 
eye,’’ etc. 

A few moments later, he recalled the description, 
“The everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide 
open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too serene 
for the gaze of man, began his state.” And Harry, from 
a high cliff, looked across the waste of green forest 
and saw the long line of white tents that marked the 
center of J. E. Johnston’s great confederate army. 

Again strange feelings came to his head, and he 
said, loud enough to cause a deer, that had been watch- 
ing him unnoticed, to throw up its white tail and dart 
into the depth of the thick forest: 

“I wonder if this is a presentiment of harm? But 
pshaw! why do I let such fancies come into my head, 
even if I have seen them come true? any signs will come 
true sometimes.” So, carefully brushing the folds out 
of the long dress and feeling the snake-like coils of 
hair to see that the wig was in proper place, he gently 
pulled his horse first one way and then the other, to 
teach him to obey his orders and that he might have 
him more thoroughly under his control. 

“Old fellow, I guess you are perfectly willing to 
obey orders; and that is one of the necessary qualifi- 
cations of a good soldier. Are you hungry? Well, 
when we get down in the hollow again I’ll give you 
your share of the rations; guess you’ll have an appetite 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


289 


for it, too, after a ride of twelve or thirteen miles; I 
know I have for mine." 

At the foot of the hill he gave his horse his oats; 
and he ate a few bites of his breakfast, but employed 
most of his time examining his revolvers and putting 
them in the best possible positions to be hid from 
view, but where he could get at them in an instant; 
then he refitted his clothing, drew a map as nearly 
correct as he could of the country he had passed over, 
and was soon in his lady’s saddle once more. 

Now he pursues his journey as slowly as his horse 
will go. Once up the long hill, he sees plainly the 
whole army, and the table-land on the opposite side 
of the river, and tries to compare it with other armies 
that he might better judge of its number and strength. 
Soon he is at the river’s edge, and on the opposite 
bank stands the outer picket-men, one on each side 
of the road. 

Old Yaller walks proudly on, and while Harry per- 
mits him to drink, is sharply scrutinized by the picket- 
men on the opposite bank. The horse drinks a little, 
but paws the water more, then walks slowly on, step- 
ping high, as if he enjoys the great flakes of spray 
which he lashes out of the water at each step. 

Harry gathered up his skirts in true feminine style; 
not that he cared for their getting wet, but to play 
well the part he was acting. He even went to a little 
trouble to have his horse turn the wrong way, that he 
might show his shoes and stockings, for in those days 
it wa^ not an uncommon thing for a dress to cover a 
man’s boots; Jeff Davis himself tried to get into 
women’s clothes afterward, b it f r.g it the shoes. 

19 


290 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Harry’s scheme was a good one, and, whatever the 
suspicions had been before, they were entirely obliter- 
ated by the striped stockings, which caused a laugh and 
sly wink from the guards. 

“Good morning, madam! What’s the object of your 
early ride?” said one of the men, bowing low in true 
Southern style. 

“Sir, I have two errands: One, to give notice of 
the whereabouts of a band of Federals who have driven 
our cattle away, another to see a brother." 

“Is your brother in this army?" asked the Southern 
soldier, more kindly now, as, perhaps, he thought of 
a sister some place in the “Sunny South." 

“Yes,” replied the rider, “and he wrote us to corne and 
see him here, as we live but a short distance." 

“All right, you pass on and tell about the Yankees 
and you’ll get to see your brother sure.” 

The same story served to take him through the next 
picket-line, but from there he was accompanied. A 
subordinate officer seemed disposed to question him 
closely, but Harry looked him full in the face so in- 
nocently that he was reassured and sent him to the 
head-quarters of Johnson with a man on each side. Old 
Yaller behaved admirably well, while Harry chatted 
freely with the escorts; getting all the information from 
them he could; avoiding all personalities lest they asked 
the brother’s name, etc. Presently they had reached 
their destination, where Harry waited patiently for the 
great Southern leader to come. 

What name would he give? if these guards were to 
stay so close to him, he might get some name from 
their army roll. A happy thought struck him! — He’d 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


291 


ask for Hiram Morris, whom he knew paroled. Then 
he fell to taking notes upon the camp. ’Twas a big 
busy place; men coming and going in every direction. 

“What’s wanted, madarn?” and turning his head, 
Harry’s eyes met those of the quick-witted General 
Johnston. 

He told his story fast, as he saw by Johnston’s nerv- 
ous manner that he had not long to wait. 

“I’ll send a man out to whom you shall give the 
particulars of the raid made by the Federals, and then, 
by giving the name of your brother, the regiment and 
company he’s in, he will send these men with you to 
see him.” 

Then thanking her very kindly, he bowed himself 
away. Soon two other gentlemen, wearing officers’ uni- 
forms, came out. They were talking busily, but Harry 
noticed that one of them never took his eyes off of the 
horse, and when within a few steps lie said something 
in a low tone to the other officer; both men now were 
so deeply interested in the horse that they never even 
spoke to the rider. 

“Come here. Speedwell,’’ said the one; and instant- 
ly the horse turned, with ears erect and head up, to 
greet his old master. In a moment, the thought of 
where Old Yaller came from, and his having an offi- 
cer’s outfit on when captured, came to Harry’s excited 
brain. 

“Then,’’ said Harry afterward, “I saw a rope, 
home and mother, and, how I ever got my foot over 
those two saddle horns that looked like mockery, I 
never could tell.’’ But at any rate he gave Old Yaller 
a gouge on either side which caused him to stand on 


292 


IVH/IT IT COST; OR 


his hind feet, and paw the air for a second, then mak- 
ing several desperate leaps as if to make sure of his 
freedom to go, he forgot the old master, and obeyed 
the commands of the new. 

"Git there, old boy, git there!” said Harry, turning 
in his saddle and looking back, as if to see whether 
the bullets were gaining upon him. 

For nearly a mile men came out of tents at almost 
each leap of the horse; but the sight of a woman, 
with hair floating out behind, and dress-skirts flapping 
in the wind, stopped them, and they would stand spell- 
bound, until he was out of their reach before they 
would collect their second thought. When fairly 
started, and after the first shock of excitement, he knew 
that all depended upon his coolness and self-posses- 
sion. He had taken a revolver in each hand and as 
he fairly sailed down the level road, he never even 
touched the rein, but guided his horse by the swaying 
^pf his body from side to side. 

The dangerous place was at the river, and Harry 
determined to do the first shooting there, for of course 
they would have a good chance at him, as he must go 
through the river slowly, it being up to the horse's 
sides. Almost before he knew how far he had gone, 
he was at the bank of the river. As the horse slowed 
up, he saw one man draw his gun to his shoulder, but 
the next moment he had fired his own revolver almost 
in his face and saw the gun drop and heard a low 
groan. 

He had also fired to the left, and before the flash 
had gone the other fired and Harry reeled; and but 
for the double pommel on the woman’s saddle would 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


2f)3 


have fallen. He was now in the river and had bal- 
anced himself in the saddle again, despite the ache in 
his side. Fearing another shot, he turned and fired at 
the second man, who was still sighting at him, but for 
some cause no shot was fired until he was nearly 
across the river. Once across he felt safe, and only 
allowed his horse to take a long greyhound gallop; 
saving his strength for a hard pull if pursued. He 
had slipped one pistol in his pocket, and taking the 
other in his left hand, he slipped his right round to 
see what the wound in his side felt like. 

“ ’Tis queer I feel no blood, but ’tis surely a bad 
wound and almost over my heart. I wonder I didn’t 
* drop dead. ” 

He felt no blood nor ugly bullet-hole, though a 
very sore spot was there. Then taking his hand from 
inside the clothing, he felt the outside and th^e was 
the path of the rebel bullet. He thrust his finger into 
the place and there he found why he didnH fall a 
corpse when the shooting took place across the river. 
Did Providence use the maiden’s kind thought to pre- 
serve his life? ’Twas the locket and picture which he 
had worn for more than three years and which he val- 
ued so highly. 

“ ’Twas a shame that a picture of that face should 
be so crushed by a rebel bullet. ” The locket and pict- 
ure were bent together not unlike a chestnut-burr. 

Harry was so absorbed in examining the "little treas- 
ure" that he didn’t see the band of horsemen going 
up on the opposite bank of the river. 

Old Yaller had been keeping down to his work in 
true race-horse style until at the top of the long hill, 


294 


IVH/IT IT COST; OR 


where Harry required him to take a slower gait to the 
bottom where they had eaten their breakfast; then 
again he took the same easy swing as before. He 
now has a long even curve, parallel with the river, and 
feels perfectly safe. 

"Not had a sign of pursuer yet," said he to himself, 
"and I have found out all that was required and have 
only to ride on back to camp at my leisure, espying 
out the lay of the country and having a good show of 
fat cattle for hash. ” 

He found out his mistake about the "leisure” when, 
the next moment, a band of horsemen were seen three- 
fourths of the way across the stream, and ahead of 
him. 

The road ran far enough from the river so that he 
would be safe from the rifles if he could be even with 
them hy^ the time they came out of the river. From 
the way they were urging their horses it was evident 
that they saw him, and were trying to be at the cross- 
roads first. To turn into the woods without even a 
cow path would prove fatal; to turn back would prob- 
ably be to meet another gang; so his only hope lay in 
his faith in the superiority of Old Yaller. 

Almost desperately he struck him with his open 
hand, as he gathered the reins up tightly with, the other. 
He passed the cross-roads as the hindmost ones came 
up the bank. 

Now the noble horse is straining every muscle. On 
he speeds, and Harry is so sure of his great power and 
capability to outdo any of his pursuers that he turns 
in his saddle, tears the wig from his head, and waves 
it at the rebs. That so enrages them that they send 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


295 


up a wild cry as they drive the spurs into their horses 
sides; and finally when Harry let go the wig it seemed 
as though they passed it before it fairly touched the 
ground. Then he tore his dress off, waved it above 
his head and let go, as he too, gave a loud shout. 
Harry had never felt a prouder sensation in his life 
than when he thus lay far over on the dashing steed’s 
neck and patted and talked to him encouragingly. 
The horse’s neck that was usually arched so gracefully 
seemed now stretched to twice its usual length His 
iron hoofs made sweet music to Harry’s ears as he 
pounded the solid road, or occasionally hit upon a 
, stone. 

‘‘They’ll have fleet steeds if they catch me:" and 
‘‘Who overtakes us now shall claim us for his pains," 

^ said Harry. 

Still forward the ambitious horse bore him with un- 
flagging energy. Harry praised him freely and knew 
that his words were not in vain, for once the horse 
turned his head for the rider to stroke his nose, as 
General T — would do almost every time he fed him. 
His eyes gleamed like those of the inveterate racer. His 
red nostrils were dilated, but his breath came full and 
regular, and the only signs of fatigue were the flutter 
of the muscles of his shoulder at times, as though the 
great strain was telling upon their strength. 

"Come Yaller, come old boy! we’re over half way 
now and our pursuers are gradually but certainly fall- 
ing back. ” * 

Their speed has indeed slackened, while Old Yaller 
has again taken that long swinging pace that the Ken- 
tucky thoroughbred horse is noted for on -a long chase. 


996 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“Ho, boy, ho!" and caps wave and bands strike up 
a martial air as “Old Yaller and Tip" dart out of a 
forest into an open field and meet the whole of Sher- 
man’s army on the march. 

General T — was loud in his praise of both boy and 
horse, as he patted the foam-flfecked ''teed which shook 
his head and pawed the ground fiercely, as if anxious 
to once more hear the sound of his iron-bound hoofs 
on the race track. 

Three days passed by and the rebel general saw his 
“Speedwell" once more as General T — rode him 
proudly at the head of the 7th Iowa in the great bat- 
tle of Resaca. 

Hurrah for Old Yaller! 


CHAPTER XXII 


MISSING AT ROLL 

"George Clarkson !’ "Here." "William R. Clay- 
ton!" "Present.” "A. P, Clarkson!” 

No answer came for several seconds, then a low 
solemn voice said: "He fell, in the last charge, and I 
carried the flag from there on.” 

"Jimmie Clarkson!” 

No voice answered but he was marked present. No; 
there was no reply when Jimmie’s name was called, 
for that "He fell in the last charge,” had been more 
than he could bear without breaking down and cover- 
ing his face. They were twin brothers, Jimmie but a 
few hours the senior of him who had fallen. They had 
pillowed their heads on the same loving breast. They 
had slept side by side in the same old-fashioned cradle. 
They had played the childhood games together. They 
had started to school together; had graduated in the 
same class. But what bound them nearer still was, 
that when their mother had left them at fifteen, she 
had held them both by the hand and said: "Boys, 
you are young yet and must need help one another. 
Go through life together, and both meet me in the 
good world. ” 

Jimmie had almost forgotten the last words of his 
mother, but now they came up fresh in his mind; and 

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IVHAT IT COST; OR 


the memory of them, with the thought that his con- 
stant companion for thirty years had fallen, was a hard 
blow; and, though a soldier of over three years’ expe- 
rience, he had never truly seen the dark side until now. 

He had been in the thickest of the fight, when men 
fell right and left. Had gone over the field after the 
smoke and din of battle had cleared away, and seen 
strong men cry with anguish and pain as they were 
jolted off to the hospital. He had seen the blue and the 
gray laying side by side, as they had fallen from each 
other’s bullets or bayonets — but he had never seen the 
evil of war as he saw it now, and his huge form shook 
with emotion, as he tried to hide the awful feeling that 
filled his whole being. 

“Here!” “Here!" “Here!” came promptly to each 
name as the Mapleton boys again reported after the 
dreadful battle was o’er. Col. Will Morris had ridden 
up to listen to this part of the roll, and his eyes ran 
restlessly over the crowd, seeking the owner of the 
name ere the answer came. 

One face he missed, and, searching still, waited the 
call of the name. 

“Harrison Osborne” — a moment’s pause, a stir among 
the crowd as each waited expectantly the clear ringing 
tones peculiar to the boy favorite; but it never came. 

“Tip!” “Harry!” — “Where’s Harry?” ran in excited 
measures through the crowd. Instinctively, all eyes 
turned to one-armed Col. Morris, whose disappointed, 
troubled look scrutinized the line of faces, and then 
rested helplessly with the Mapleton boys, scanning 
the face of each as if to read there a clue to Harry’s 
whereabouts. The roll-call ceased, aimless questions 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 299 

were asked, notes were compared upon where each had 
seen him last; but Harry could not be found. 

“He was on my right until just when the firing 
ceased; I know,” said Jack Riley. “The boy must be 
about somewhere for not a dozen shots were fired after- 
ward. We talked after the battle was clear over, for I 
remember he said: “It was an easy victory, but we’ve 
lost another Mapleton man!” and he told me of seeing 
Al. Clarkson fall.” 

“He told me,” said Roy Clayton, "that he passed a 
Confederate boy badly wounded who reminded him 
so much of Guy Harrington that he was going to take 
him some water and help him if he could. And after 
the battle I saw him taking the water back.” 

That was the last anyone had seen of him, when the 
battle had been over four hours; the wounded had 
been all cared for and Harry was not among them. 
The slain among Union soldiers were all buried but 
all knew “Tip” was not among the dead. 

“I hope he was not killed; and he could not have 
been killed after the time you boys say you saw him. 
I don’t think there was one prisoner taken. But 
where he can be is a mystery! He never yet has been 
absent from roll-call without a cause we all knew of, 
and I can see no motive for his absence now,” said 
Col. Morris, as he looked anxiously from one soldier to 
another. 

Again and again Co. F went over the entire field in 
search of a clue to the boy’s whereabouts, or something 
that would show he was killed; for the love they bore 
Harry, they searched, and also for that esteem they 
held the one-armed colonel in who rode hither and 


300 


IVHAT IT COST; OK 


thither, a sad despondent look settling o’er his face, 
usually so full of hopie and life. 

No trace! no Harry! and all surrendered the hope of 
ever seeing the boy-soldier again. 

They thought no prisoners had been taken, although 
the Southern papers said: “It was a crushing defeat 
for our army, both sides losing heavily in slain; but 
we lost several hundreds, who were taken prisoners, 
while the prisoners we took did not exceed one hun- 
dred. ” 

Never had a sorrow unmanned Will Morris as this 
did. He had grieved over the death of Clay, so sud- 
denly ending a promising life; but the suspense of this, 
the conflicting hopes and fears that filled him — brought 
a wan, hopeless, searching look to his face and a pit- 
eous cry to his heart. 

How could he ever write the dreadful words to the 
home-folks? “Missing at roll" — how ^yould he ever 
dare say that to Mother Osborne, who had already given 
Clay to the good cause? 

He had almost dreaded to meet Mother Osbourne after 
Clay’s death; he could see the sad, patient face still, 
as, with quivering lips, she had said, when she bade 
him good-bye this last time: “Oh Will, look after my 
boy: bring back my only boy, my baby!” 

What would be the effect of the message he must 
pen? How would they live through, it? — would the 
bullet that killed Harry pierce the heart of his mother? 
Would the rebel who aimed at the fair-haired boy in 
the South, kill the fair-haired old man in the North 
with the same shot? Over and over Will thought of 
the message — changed the words that they might seem 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


301 


softer; then tore the letter up and searched and in- 
quired again. 

“Oh what shall I do? How can I tell them?” he 
asked leaning back from his unwritten page, two days 
after the sad roll-call. Prof. Baker who sat by him 
looked his sympathy; during all the search he had been 
almost as anxious as Will himself. 

"Say, Col. Will, an’ I’ll tell ’em fur ye if ye’ll git 
me one of thim furlo things ye’es goes home on. But 
faith an’ if it’s shoost the same to yer I’d rither go 
home on the kivered keers an’ thin I’ll know how to 
git there safe,” and Pat’s face beamed at the thought 
that home was possible for him. An’ begorra they can 
git on widout me a toime, an’ it’s meself as hasn’t 
iver sot my foot toward home sence we all cum.” 

Will neither replied nor looked up. 

“I tell you, Morris, that Harry will turn up yet, 
some place, I feel sure,” said Prof. Baker. 

"It does seem that after his lucky adventures he 
would come out all right,” said Will more hopeful 
again. “And all the boys say that there wasn’t a man 
as young as Harry among the slain.” 

And he turned to the boys who began dropping into 
the tent at the mention of Harry’s name — turned to 
them again for hopeful words. 

“I know he was not killed,” said Roy Clayton. “But 
I can’t tell where in the world he can be.” 

They had another long earnest talk in which every 
particle of information they had gained was brought 
out, and Will felt reassured. At least he thought Harry 
was alive, though perhaps a prisoner; that would be 
almost equivalent to death, unless the war would close 
soon or he be exchanged. 


302 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


"Well, all I can do is to write home and tell them 
everything now,” said Will; and next morning, when 
the army-mail was being made up, Col. Will came 
with his contribution — one letter to Dr. Osborne, one 
to Grace — to be put in with the thousands of letters 
going to Northern homes to bring cheer and comfort; 
or to bring tears and sobs to the dear ones awaiting 
their coming. 

Most of these were freighted with good news — news 
that Sherman was carrying everything before him ; that 
nothing could resist an army like his; that, in a few 
more days, they would march triumphantly to Savan- 
nah, and soon the rebs must lay down their arms or 
starve. 

The Northern papers said: "Sherman has now sur- 
mounted the last obstacle until he reaches Savannah! 
’twas an easy victory and not men enough lost to 
mention, after such battles as Gettysburg, Vicksburg, 
Cold Harbor and the Wilderness.” 

Such were most of the letters home; such were most 
of the comments of the Northern press; but to Will 
Morris it sounded like mockery to say such things when 
Harry was gone. Reluctantly, sadly he put in his let- 
ters what was so sure to rend the heart-strings of the 
folks dearest of all others to him. The power of a drop 
of ink to crush the hope and life out of warm hearts 
was tested in the drops which penned these tidings, and 
showed itself in the moans and sobs it wTung from that 
patient woman, and from the usually so jovial old 
doctor. 

"Oh, why do I live now, with both my boys in the 
grave! Lone graves — unmarked, unknown, in an en- 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


303 


emy’s country! Oh, why must I give up my baby?" 
sobbed Mrs. Osborne, when the doctor read the heart- 
breaking words. 

It was indeed a hard blow to both of them, and had 
it not been that mother must bear it,” said the doctor 
afterward to Grace, "I think I should have gone mad.” 

“The Lord’s ways are above our ways, and though 
all is dark now let us hope that the light may yet shine 
upon us,” said the doctor, as he pillowed her throbbing 
head on his sorrow-heaving breast and gently stroked 
the silvery locks which had so recently been glossy 
black. 

“Why, what have we to live for now?” she asked in 
a more subdued tone, but sadder still. 

“Why, mother, we have much to live for! Let us 
not forget that the Lord has bound us here by many 
pleasant ties; and we must not give up those ties nor 
want to break ourselves loose from them until ’tis good 
will of Him who has made the greatest sacrifice of all. 
We have dear patient Grace, who must bear this, too. 
We have Will, who has made such a sacrifice already; 
we must take him to be a son indeed, since his father 
won’t. We have darling little Gwen and Baby Grant 
with their childish innocence and cunning ways; we 
must throw the doors of our hearts \\ ide open and let 
them take posssesion in the name of our dear ones 
gone. ” 

“Oh, my heart is so full of trouble, it seems that 
there never can one ray of light enter it again.” And 
the sobs came violently. 

“I know your heart is full of sorrow,” said he, “but 
if that sorrow must be, let us make it bloom with roses. 


304 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


for our everlasting crown. Last spring I saw you fill 
that box with earth; dry ugly soil — and it might have 
remained so had you not added a few seeds aud kept 
pouring water on, a little at a time ever since, and now, 
out of the ugly soil comes a bright living, blooming 
bouquet. Now your heart is full of trouble; but there 
is still room for acts of kindness and streams of love 
which will make a bouquet of good deeds continually 
springing up for others to pluck from. I really believe 
from all the circumstances Will relates that Harry 
lives, and will yet come home to us; but if we must 
bear this trial also, let’s do it bravely and feeling that 
it must be for the best — " 

“What is it Will says?" asked Mrs. Osborne, a hope 
coming to her face. “He believes Harry still lives 
unless the soldiers who say they saw him were mis- 
taken? ” 

“I write you a plain letter giving full particulars 
from beginning to end,” the doctor read, “that you 
may draw your own conclusions. I believe that the 
Confederate boy and Harry will yet be found, or will 
find themselves. He may be wounded and Harry tak- 
ing care of him some place." 

“No, Harrison, Harry would never leave Will and 
the army to take care of a Confederate soldier. You 
don’t think so either, do you?" asked Mrs. Osborne. 

“Well, I don’t understand it; but the more 1 think 
of it, the surer I feel that Harry is not killed, though 
he may have been taken prisoner." 

A knock at the door brought the doctor away with a 
regretful feeling, for he feared it was a call for him, 
which he must refuse. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


305 


“Good evening, Judge Burton! will you come in?” 

“Well, just for a minute,” answered Judge Burton, 
brushing the snow from his great overcoat which he 
did not remove. “I hear you are deeply troubled over 
the absence of your son from the army; and I just came 
down to say we had a letter in this mail” (he should 
have said Emma instead of “we”) “from Prof. Baker. 
He gives it as his opinion that Harry was not killed, 
unless possibly by some stragglers after the real battle 
was over. He himself saw him just before they took 
the fort. He also saw the boy Confederate who re- 
sembled Guy Harrington, and said he went back after- 
ward, and found some blood where he had been laying 
— but that was all.” The judge then took leave of the 
sorrowing pair, but met Grace and Aunt Polly at the 
gate going to help the beloved ones bear the burden. 




CHAPTER XXIII 


FLOY . 

"Missing at roll — missing! Oh God, missing!" whis- 
pered Floy passionately as she forced her way through 
the crowd that had gathered round Dr. Osborne in the 
postoffice as his trembling hand had torn open Will’s 
letter, and he had read the terrible words. Floy heard 
his heart-broken cry: "O God, my boy is dead!" and 
with a wild cry in her heart that only God could hear, 
she hurried away. 

There are times when human sympathy seerhs cold 
and unavailing; there are trials which must be faced 
alone. Only the eye of Him who seeth the sparrows 
when they fall must see in her face what that word 
"missing" meant to her. Her blanched face and startled 
eyes brought the tears into the eyes of Marne, who 
stood with her at the opening of the mail. But when, 
as Floy turned, she tried to slip her hand through her 
arm, saying: "Dear Floy, I’m so sorry for you — "Floy 
had stopped her almost harshly. 

"Don’t; let me go alone, please." And even Marne 
could only look lovingly after her young form, that 
walked so swiftly toward Elm Cottage, quite unheed- 
ing the white snow-flakes that blew against her marble- 
white cheek, all unconscious of the looks of pity given 
her by the people she passed. 

"No, no — it could not be that Harry was dead! God 
306 


DEBTOR Am CREDITOR 


307 


himself would interfere! What would his mother and 
Grace do; and I” — and now the hot color surged into 
her cheeks. “Oh, I didn’t know Harry was so much 
to me!" 

She had reached the gate before she realized where 
she was going; but stopped short, as she clicked it, 
with, “Grace! How shall I ever tell Grace?" 

Grace had been anxiously waiting a letter; she no- 
ticed the hesitation at the gate, and fearing sad news, 
flung the door open; and the look in Floy’s face drove 
every vestige of color from her own. 

“What is it? Floy, for the love of heaven speak ! 
Is Will— ?" 

“No; not Will, but — Harry — is — missing," and the 
words sounded cold and hard, as she handed Will’s 
letter to Grace. 

She had expected one from Harry by this mail, 
though but a week ago a newsy, bright one had come, 
full of hope that the war might soon be over; in which 
he had wondered “if the little school-mate friend, he 
couldn’t coax under the elm to say ‘she was sorry he 
was going to the war,’ would be glad to welcome him 
home, and say so. " 

" Harry \ It doesn’t seem possible anything could 
happen to Harry!" murmured Grace, tearing open 
Will’s letter. Aunt Polly, laying Grant in his cradle, 
stood in the middle door with tears running down her 
cheeks, and Floy read over Grace’s shoulder what Will 
said — the words that sounded like the first clods of 
cold earth that fall on a loved one’s coffin. The 
broken sobs caught Gwen’s attention, who was “pitty 
girling” her doll in the catnip tea “danma" had been 


308 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


giving the "boy baby" (“pitty girl" was the "Baby 
Gwen’s" way of saying "bathe," since Grace would say 
to her, "come let’s wash Gwen’s face and be pretty 

girl)- 

Now her big eyes filled with wonder as she looked 
from one troubled face to another. 

"I must go to my mother! " said Grace, controlling 
herself. "’Twill break her heart, if Harry, too, is 
gone. ” 

"Well, I don’t believe he is," said Aunt Polly. 
"The battle was over, anyhow, before he went to help 
the rebel boy, and he’ll turn up yet. I’m afeerd 
though, he’s taken prisoner." 

'' Anders onville! oh 1 ’Twould be worse than death, 
if it were not for the hope of exchange.”’ 

"You can’t take Grant and Gwen, either, out in the 
snow; leave both with me, Grace. I’ll hitch ‘Rilla’ to 
the sleigh for you," said Floy, feeling she must do 
something. "Rilla" was the horse Dr. Osborne got 
from the guerrilla that traded with him; his own "Fan- 
nie, " much to his delight, having been returned to him 
four days later, so he had both, and lent "Rilla” to 
the folks at Elm Cottage to recompense ,Floy for the 
trouble the guerrilla raid had cost her. "Rilla" now 
stuck her nose round to be petted, but Floy was blind 
to the mute appeal; for far away o’er a southern field, 
her thoughts ran to two boys, the one in blue doing a 
last kind act in pity for the boy in gray, crying for 
home and mother, in the hour of death. 

Would anyone be so inhuman as to kill this ncble 
boy in his act of mercy? or, traitor to the highest feel- 
ings of humanity, to send him off to that dreadful An- 


DEBTOR y4ND CREDITOR 


309 


dersonville, the very name of which brought terror to 
the hearts of loyal wives and mothers? 

“No, no — I believe Will is right. He must be living, 
and, if so, will be heard from soon; even now he may 
be back with the army.” 

Grace and Aunt Polly were both bundled up and 
Floy was soon alone with Gwen and Grant, whose fat 
cheeks Grace kissed tenderly before leaving, saying: 

“I won’t stay from my boy-baby long — ’twill be my 
first half-hour from you.” This “Grant” had come to 
live at the cottage in September, had been given the 
name “boy-baby,” by Gw'en, at once, who in two days 
would spell b-o-y boy with a vim; but to Will had 
been left the honor of naming the boy; and when he 
was one week old. Will had sent the label — “U. S. 
Grant” — (United States Grant) to Atint Polly’s delight, 
though ’twould be hard to say who was most pleased 
with the cognomen — she or Dr. Osborne. Grant was 
now sleeping at his post (bed-post) and Gwen was 
given Floy’s box of school-day curiosities — shells; peb- 
bles, marbles, etc., which always held her undivided 
attention. Then Floy took, almost reverently, a box of 
keepsakes from her trunk, and turning away from Gwen, 
bedewed the pressed bouquet with bitter tears, kissed 
the medal on her necklace passionately, but wore it 
still — repeating the words on the little note she had 
received with it from Harry: “Wear it till I come.” 

“But will you come, will you ever come? Oh, you 
must!” she whispered, “but if not, Fll wear it always 
— until I come to you!” 

Then the packet of letters tied now carefully with a 
blue ribbon, she took, and read that last one over 
again. “Would she give him a glad welcome?" 


310 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


“Oh, Harry, Harry! sleeping perhaps i;n an unknown 
grave ’neath the soil bathed in the life-blood of noble 
patriots like him! No mother to soothe his dying pain 
— no friend to hear his last ‘good-bye!”' 

Grace had quite made up her mind when she came 
back that Harry was dead, and though she didn’t say 
so in words, her face did, and she was trying hard to 
bow in sweet submission to the will of Him who know- 
eth what is best. Floy’s white face touched her 
deeply, she guessed that the darling brother was loved 
by her, too; and the comforting was just the reverse 
of what Floy had thought while they were gone. 

In the evening, Floy went across the meadow as usual 
to arrange for her father’s comfort — and the old man 
saw in her face the sorrow three words might have told, 
but couldn’t even find out its cause, since he had for- 
bidden all mention of the war; and he felt the barrier 
between him and his young daughter in trouble more 
dreadfully than ever. 

Two days later, another home in the village was be- 
decked with stars and stripes and flowers; it was Miller 
Wells’ brick house; the mill was closed that afternoon, 
the mill-hands given a holiday because Clarke was 
coming home — straight home from Andersonville, on ex- 
change! A sad contrast to the Osborne home, with 
its closed shutters and silent rooms. 

Dr. Osborne walked down to the station to meet 
Clarke — for he might tell something of Harry 

A mixed crowd gathered to meet the train, glad that 
one of the boys was getting home for a season; but 
what news might the mail bring of those still facing the 
enemy? Long before the train was due. Miller Wells 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


311 


and his frail wife came down with beaming laces; and 
when the train came puffing in, the thin, lank^ brown- 
eyed youth in soldier blue — who seemed all eyes and 
bones — with a glad cry was caught and hugged in real 
fatherly style, and never a word of “I told you so! 
iietter have taken my ’advice and not enlisted!” 

"When did you leave Andersonville?” asked the doc- 
tor, as soon as the first greetings were over. 

“Let’s see; this is the 23d of December — well, the 
19th,” said Clarke. “I lost no time to seek ‘God’s 
land’ after the exchange was made.” 

“Did you — you didn’t see anything of Harry, did 
you? ’’ 

“Why no — great heavens! The boy wasn’t taken 
prisoner, was he?” and Clarke trembled from head to 
foot. 

“Harry’s missing, the letter said — the battle was at 
Ft. McAllister on the 13th; he would have been in 
Andersonville by the 19th, anyway, I should think. 
I fear my boy is dead,” and the old man, who turned 
so sadly and slowly, could scarce be recognized as the 
fun-loving Dr. Osborne. 

“This is terrible!” said Clarke. “It would be ’most 
as well to be dead, as taken to that horrible place.” 

The last hope seemed to have vanished as the day 
brought no tidings from the missing boy. 

“He has gone to answer his angel name at the roll- 
call from the book of life,” said Grace softly when her 
father told them what Clarke had said; and she ended 
with, “I fear his name will never be answered to roll- 
call again in this world!” 

“Never to face death or danger again. The battle of 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


ni2 

life gloriously won. He rests side-by-side with Clay, 
where peace is I’m thankful Harry and Clay were 
both Christians; ’twill be a new link in the chain that 
draws us heavenward. But I can’t give up all hope; 
the boys had both disappeared, Harry and the one he 
went to help, when Will and the boys searched for 
them,” said the doctor. 

Floy, who had driven down with Grace for the mail, 
heard all with a dead weight on her heart. Gazing 
steadily into the fire she sat but never saw the flames. 
Now she looked up more hopeful than since the dread- 
ful "missing at roll" had stolen her roses. 

"Let’s hope as long as there’s a shadow of a chance! 
Think how many hair-breadth escapes Harry has had! ” 
and she mentally recalled Harry’s letter giving an ac- 
count of his visit to Johnston’s camp, where his life 
had been saved by her locket and picture which was 
worn next to his heart. It had saved his life! How her 
cheeks had burned as she read it, and he had added: 
"Dear little face, which in battle, camp and march had 
been with me so constantly; it seemed cruel to have- 
it so marred and broken, but bent as it is, not all the 
wealth of the Confederacy could buy it! It saved my life, 
Floy, and you sent it to me; so you really saved my 
life," Her cheeks burned scarlet now — oh, that she 
might have saved it again! 

’Twas late when she went down to her father’s that 
evening, for they talked with Aunt Polly a long time 
after driving up to the cottage; so Floy drove down, 
just to say a cheerful word, for the winter was a dreary 
time to an old man alone. He sat before the fire- 
place, his head bowed upon his hands. A picture of 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


81 B 


abject misery he looked to Floy as she peeped through 
the window, and a great pity went out from her loving 
heart to him; for she knew that, hard as he seemed in 
turning his own son out of the home that had sheltered 
him since childhood — just because he clung to his own 
principles even if they crossed the strong ones of the 
father — he never for a moment dreamed that he could 
be wrong. 

A low moan, as she entered noiselessly, brought her 
to his side in a moment. 

"Father, what is the matter? are you sick?” But the 
flushed face and heavy eyes, as he looked up, answered 
her before he spoke. 

"Not anything serious, I think; don’t be scared, 
girlie,” he said, and the face above him paled as he 
coughed. "My head has been aching all day, and now 
is ’most bursting, and I have a bad cough too, but I’ll 
be better soon. Your cool hands feel soft and good.” 

"You have fever, perhaps it is but a bad cold, but — 
well. I’m going to make you a ginger-stew and give 
you a hot foot-bath; then you must go right off to a 
snug, warm bed and I hope that will make you O. K. ” 

This she said cheerily and soon the tea-kettle ' was 
humming o’er the fire-place, and Floy was putting 
"things to rights in the room,” but while she tried to 
wear a cheery face, she carried a heavy heart. 

"Oh dear! what shall I do? I can’t leave him here 
alone to-night — he might get worse — I can’t stay with 
the team, and it’s dark as can be to come down again. 
I’ll do it though — I must! ” and the brave spirit came 
up strong to meet the emergency. 

"Now, father, just bathe your feet,” she said, arrang- 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


ai4 

ing the foot-bath tub for him and putting the towel 
beside it, “while I get your bed ready!” 

Soon the ginger-tea was drunk and the aching head 
was restfully settled on the soft pillows. Floy put hot 
irons to his feet, tucked the covers round carefully, then 
soothing the hot head, said: “Now I’ll take ^he team 
back and come again.” 

“What’s that? No, no child, you mustn’t comeback 
in the dark and cold! ” cried the old man, raising up 
quickly, but the sharp pain the effort cost him brought 
a half shriek. 

“Yes, I’ll stay down here to-night; I’m not at all 
afraid of the dark; perhaps I’ll drive back; there’s 
room in the barn for Rilla, isn’t there?” She hadn’t 
meant to say Rilla, fearing it might bring up hard 
thoughts that the memory of what the guerrilla raid 
was to him always brought, but the man scarcely heard 
the name and it held no connection to any scene, 
pleasant or unpleasant. 

“’Taint no use making yourself sick along with me. 
The old man is cast iron, and will be all right in the 
morning. Run along back now and don^t fret — I tell 
you 'tis no use; but leave me the bucket of water by 
my bed.” 

Floy placed a cup of water on a stand by the bed 
and picking up the lantern she had brought with her, 
left the room, hurriedly, without returning the “good- 
night” he called after her, for she had determined to 
take care of him. 

•‘Poor lonely old [father!” she thought, as she tied 
up Rilla^s halter and jumped into the box-sleigh; “I’ll 
not leave him to be sick, without a human being near. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


315 


even if he has been hard on Will, and is in the wrong 
about the war; I don’t care if my nose does get cold, 
what do I live for anyway?" 

Before she had driven far, she could see the cottage 
door open repeatedly, and knew Aunt Polly was won- 
dering at her long stay. 

"What in the world’s the matter?” called the well- 
known voice from the gate, as she drew near and saw 
the red head-shawl with Aunt Polly’s anxious face 
under it. "You’ve been gone a powerful long time! 
I tho’t mebbe that critter had run off and broke your 
neck! ” 

"Oh no! Rilla and I get along splendidly; but pa is 
sick and I guess I had better go back and stay all 
night.” 

"Sick! What’s the matter?" This was the first 
question Polly Morris had asked for three and a half 
years concerning old Aaron. But she tried to believe 
she was simply pitying Floy. "Come in and warm 
yourself, anyway," she added, leading the way. 

"I think it’s just a bad cold, perhaps," and Floy felt 
like bursting into tears as she thought, "The idea of 
having to explain my father's sickness to my mother!” 
"But he has high fever and I can’t leave him alone!" 

The young girl looked truly pitiful with her eyes full 
of tears that were proudly held back, while a war of 
conflicting feelings was going on in her heart. The 
old father down there alone — seeming hard-hearted per- 
haps, but sick now; and the breach between him and 
her mother — so kind-hearted and ready to go to care 
for the sick always — grown wider than ever. 

"O! when will this thing end!” But with Will dar- 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


81 fi 

iivj, danger after having given his right arm to put 
down a rebellion which the old man justified to such 
an extent that Will was disinherited, she couldn’t ask 
her mother to do otherwise than she was doing. But 
it was hard — so hard — to Floy, who loved them all! 

Aunt Polly showed her anxiety by her attentions for 
Floy, whom she' installed in her own easy rocker by 
the oven; she had her eat a luncheon and drink a cup 
of coffee, warmed a comforter for her to wrap up in as 
she got ready to go, and charged her to warm all the 
bedclothes before she slept in the spare bed unused 
so long. 

Kissing baby Grant, who told her “goo a-goo” (good, 
good girl, Floy thought he wanted to say) and getting 
off from Gwen, who ran excitedly around, searching 
with, “Where’s my hooden? I go wiv my Foy!” she 
was soon out in the dark road with Rilla. Thoughts 
of Harry missing and father sick crowded all lesser 
ones of the cold, dark night out of her busy brain. 

Her father feigned surprise at her return and said ; 
“’Twas a foolish trick,” but the relieved look told 
her he was glad of it. 

Rilla stabled, and her father sleeping, she went in- 
to the little bedroom, joining the sitting-room, from 
where she could hear if her father was not resting well. 
This was her own little room in the happy home-days; 
here she had made paper dolls when a wee thing, here 
slipped off to have the good cries so common to school- 
girls; in one corner, still, stood a box holding her old 
school-books and prizes— she had never moved them 
and still kept some of her dresses on the same hooks 
where for years she’d hung them. Since that memora- 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


317 


ble 4th of July she had never used her bed, but had 
aired it, hoping that peace might come sometime, and 
they all might return home. 

Floy sobbed herself to sleep that night — her first 
night home again — but so sad was the home-coming! 
Twice in the night she slipped into the sitting-room to 
find her father sleeping, though breathing heavily. 

“Florence, Florence!” 

Floy was dreaming and did not hear her father cough- 
ing; but the name brought her to her feet at once. 

“What is it? Oh papa!” she cried growing pale at 
the sight she saw. The gray-haired man sitting up in 
bed coughing, convulsively, and at every cough came 
che bright life-blood. 

“Hemorrhage,” he whispered. Floy knew it must 
be that, and what to do was the question which puzzled 
her now. “W’hat if he’d die!" and her marbled face 
and tear-filled eyes told the fears she tried to hide. She 
knew she must keep him from getting frightened — that 
his life depended on it. Floy had scarcely ever seen 
a sick person, save her mother and sister-in-law that 
hard winter, and felt almost helpless here alone with 
^ her old father who was in actual danger; but she must 
do something. “Oh if someone would just come!” She 
- gave him a little sugar to keep him irom coughing, and 
made a mustard poultice for his chest — she thought 
perhaps ’twould draw some of the blood to the surface. 
Aunt Polly always used lots of mustard. 

“Lie down again just as soon as you can,” she said, 
as composedly as possible. “How long have your lungs 
been bleeding?” 

“Just began as I called you. ’Tis stopping now, 
’pears to me.” 


318 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“I think I had better go for doctor Osborne. Now 
don’t talk; I can be back in twenty minutes at the far- 
thest. That’s the best thing I know. But you must keep 
still. ” 

He smiled faintly and pressed the little hands that 
arranged the pillows, lovingly. 

“You’re a darling little girl, Florence, a good girl." 

When Rilla was bridled, Floy peeped in before start- 
ing; how she hated to leave him! He was better 
though, and kissing the pale brow, she hurried away, 
calling cheerfully from the door, ‘T won’t be gone 
long." 

“Now Rilla" — as she sprang upon her back and gave 
a keen cut with the whip — “Go, for the love of heaven, 
go!" and Rilla went, in a way that made Floy think 
of “Old Yaller" and Harry, though she scarcely ex- 
pressed the thought to herself. On, on, thinking of, 
and praying for, that father all alone! Rilla wanted 
to stop at Elm Cottage and Floy rode to the gate. 
“I’ll tell them,” she thought. “It won’t take a mo- 
ment, and may be ma will go down! “Halloo, Halloo!" 
she shouted; two snowy-capped heads appeared, almost 
simultaneously, at the kitchen-door ; two startled faces, 
for ’twas in the early dawn and they knew something, 
and from her face, they feared the worst had happened. 
Upon the first appearance of the caps, Floy called out: 

“Father has hemorrhage — go down — won’t one of 
you? I’m going for the doctor,” then down the road 
she sped. 

“I’ll go down, at once,” said Grace. “Poor Floy!" 

Aunt Polly gave her a grateful look and her worried 
nervous movements became calmer, but Aunt Polly 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


319 


didn’t feel quite easy. "I’ll take care of the children 
then," she said, and helped her off with such alacrity 
that Grace knew that Aunt Polly’s conscience was re- 
lieved to have her go. Will also would want her to 
go, she was sure. Poor old man! she wouldn’t harbor 
sad memories now, but help a suffering man! ’Twas 
Will’s father — nothing on earth could change that 
fact — that demanded her forgetting all bitterness and 
working like a daughter. Indeed, he had been so kind 
to her when she first came here as Will’s wife, so 
thoughtful and courteous to one who felt shy and strange 
under a calm exterior. All these memories came surg- 
ing through her mind as she picked her way along the 
snowy road. She had just reached the porch when , 
Floy came dashing back and passed with, "Good! Grace, 
i in glad you came!” Thinking only of the imminent 
danger to the old man left alone, and with a prayer in 
her heart that it would not be too late for human help, 
Grace went in. The old man raised his head feebly 
with: "Florence, is that you?” 

"No, father, ’tis Grace — Floy’s coming. What can I 
do for you?” 

She could see the strong man’s lips quiver piteously 
but the vomiting came on again in such frightful quan- 
tities that Grace almost fancied she could hear the grim 
boatman’s oars grating upon the sand; and all thoughts 
of old differences were awed into insignificance before 
this vision of eternity’s nearness. 

'T — shall — soon — be beyond — mortal care,” he said 
faintly, as she tenderly helped him back. "And ’tis 
better so. Where' s Florencef 

Floy came in just as he spoke her name, and with 


320 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


blanched face covered his brow with kisses, and Grace 
stepped to the porch to hurry the doctor whom she 
heard coming. If Dr. Osborne had any hesitancy about 
coming, Floy’s white face decided him promptly and 
he had said: “Poor little girl — don’t be frightened; 
Pll come, at once.’’ A gleam of sunshine seemed to 
penetrate the darkness as the doctor^ s healthy and 
health-giving form now came in, and with a feeling of 
safety Floy heralded him; for the blood still flowed and 
the old man was very weak. 

“Oh, Dr. Osborne, Pm so glad you’ve come! Now 
he will get well!’’ she cried, through her tears. 

“I’ll do my best, you can count on that,’’ said the 
doctor, cheerily. Then to the sick man, to whom, 
thoug'h a well-known neighbor, he had not spoken a 
syllable for over three years : 

“Lie perfectly quiet a moment; I’ll fix something to 
help you!’’ 

The hemorrhage ceased, finally, but all day he lay 
like one dead, and Floy hung like a shadow of light 
o’er his bed, wondering how much she could bear of 
sorrow without being crushed. Never had he seemed 
so dear, this strong old man who wouldn’ t bend the 
eighth of an inch in his will if he thought he was 
right; but now so hopelessly broken! 

Grace went home to the children, but came and went 
often during the day, though ’twas a trial to her to 
meet Harvey’s folks, who had been told by the doctor. 
Floy asked him to do so. They had said many bitter 
things about Grace and Will in the trouble upon Will’s 
going to the war, and ’twas thought, perhaps unjustly, 
that they added fuel to the fire that burned out the old 
home-love. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


321 


Dr. Osborne came several times during the day and 
when Floy looked him searchingly in the eye and 
asked: ‘‘Doctor, will he live? Tell me what you 
think! ” he looked so pityingly at her that she knew 
the danger, though he said: 

“Everything depends upon perfect quiet, and — we’ll 
save him if ’tis possible." 

It was the night before Christmas — the saddest Floy 
had ever known. This evening had always been the 
herald of a glad to-morrow for her. Christmas-trees 
and sleigh-rides had Riled each evening, and some glad 
surprise she had in store for the others always lent a 
special charm to her enjoyment of it. Last year she 
and Guy had planned a class present to Harry, and 
sent a cabinet picture of the “class of ’64” in a velvet 
case Floy had made herself. SI e had baked a hand- 
some cake for her father and could see his happy, sur- 
prised look as he uncovered it and read the “Merry 
Christmas” in pretty candies on the top. Will was 
here, then, and had stroked her hair lovingly when he 
saw the cake for her father, saying with lears in his 
eyes: “You’re a darling, good girl, puss. I’m proud of 

you!” But to-night! Oh, Floy thought her heart 
would burst as she stood at her bedroom window 
alone for a few minutes, and gazed out into the cold 
moonlight and thought it all over! 

Will in constant danger; Harry dead perhaps, and 
they might never, in this life, know of his grave; and 
her father lying so still and helpless, that life seemed 
suspended with a single thread. But another thought, 
more resting, came with the last — “God holds one end 
of the thread.” And her wild appeal to Him— she 


2/ 


32 : 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


couldn’t see for the darkness she seemed groping in 
must have been heard, for a trusting, comforting “God 
knows thy sorrow and will not leave nor forsake thee! ” 
seemed to come to her, and she bravely dried her eyes 
and went again into the sick-room. 

Harvey said he’d stay to-night with the sick father, 
but Floy stayed, too; keeping silent vigil by his pillow 
while Harvey snored in the rocker before the hearth. 
The cough seemed better, the medicine left to keep it 
loose she was careful to give regularly. 

“Another hemorrhage in his weak state might prove 
fatal,” were the words she had heard the doctor say to 
Harvey on the porch as he was leaving, and they had 
kept ringing in her ears as she sat thinking, thinking, 
and yet too worried to think. 

She felt so sorry for him in his isolated life. Sadder 
still became the isolation caused by the tenacity with 
which he clung to his old set opinions, such a part of 
him that they couldn’t be separated. Never till the 
issues were dead could the family be reunited; “would 
that come in this world?” The answer to her thoughts 
came from the sick man himself, coughing, a stream of 
blood gushing from his mouth. Floy knew what it meant. 

“Harvey! Harvey! Go for the doctor — quick! Har- 
vey! his lungs are bleeding again!” she whispered. 
“Take Rilla, she’s fleetest.” 

Harvey needed no second bidding, and put Rilla to 
her utmost speed, but it seemed hours to Floy e’er she 
heard horses’ hoofs returning. Fifteen minutes later, 
after doing all he knew, the doctor turned, helplessly, 
to Harvey — he couldn’t look at Floy. “Go for your 
wife, or to Elm Cottage for Grace. ” 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


323 


“Pll go! ’ Floy exclaimed excitedly, tying the doc 
tor’s scarf around her head. 

'‘Polly!" whispered the pale lips, very faintly, but 
Floy heard it. ‘‘She’ll surely come — now!" and with 
a smothered sob she sprang into the doctor’s sleigh 
and "Prince and Fan" never made better time. 

The light in the cottage was still burning, for Aunt 
Polly somehow couldn’t sleep and had been wandering 
about all night. 

Dashing into the kitchen door Flo}^ screamed, rather 
than called, "Mother, mother, come quick if you want 
to see father alive!" 

Pale as marble, mother and daughter looked into 
each other’s faces! 

"Help me get ready — quick!” Aunt Polly said, try- 
ing to command her trembling hands. 

Grace brought her wraps, and in almost incredible 
time. Aunt Polly had started back home. 

"Send pa for me, Floy," Grace said, putting her arm 
lovingly around her. 'T want to bring the children." 

Neither spoke a word on the strange ride home; but 
there was scarcely time, dor Flo}^ drove like mad. 

"You go right in," she said as they neared the house, 
but Harvey came out to tie the team, and Floy fol- 
lowed her at once. That meeting, which slie wit- 
nessed, burned in the daughter’s memory. 

"Polly, forgive mo — I was hard on you — and — the 
boy! " 

Polly kissed the pale brow. "Never mind, that’s all 
right now! " and her own hands cared for the sufferer 
afterward, as in the long ago. The cold sweat on his 
brow, and death-pallor on his cheek, told that the 


334 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


strong-willed man had found a master, and would suc- 
cumb. 

"I’ll never tear down — another — flag, Polly," he 
said faintly; "I thought I was right, you thought you 
was. ” 

‘It doesn’t make any odds now,” sobbed Polly 
"Don’t worry over it, Aaron.” 

“You was alius a good, kind wife — I oughter re- 
spected your feelings,” he said, another silence, broken 
only by Floy’s sobs from the foot of the bed where she 
had thrown herself upon entering. 

"Florence! Florence!” he called raising his head 
excitedly, unheeding Aunt Polly’s "don’t, Floy’s here!” 

"Florence, get the deed from my private tin Idox, you 
know, in the corner of the bureau-drawer.” The head 
fell helplessly as he saw her turn to do his bidding. 
When she had brought it he said: 

“Now let me see you burn it.” 

A flush came to Harvey’s face, and to that of his 
wife just entering with their two boys. 

"He’s out of his head, ain’t he?” she whispered loud 
enough for all to hear. 

"No. Only burning up the rubbish,” replied the old 
man. "There! Will will stiare with you all!” and a 
happier look settled on the old face than it had worn 
for years. 

Grace and the children came in just then. Aunt 
Polly held her arms for Grant, and Grace brought Gwen 
to the bed-side. 

"Will’s children,” Aunt Polly told him; but the eyes 
had closed. Presently they opened wide. "Tell Will 
. — I cried — when I saw — the — one — arm ; I was hard on 


DEBTOR /fND CREDITOR 


325 


the boy — I thought I was right! No quarrels — in — 
heaven! meet me, where — is Florence?” and the gray 
head sank back on the pillow smiling faintly as Floy 
bent over him. A convulsive shudder — dead! 

Never a Christmas-morn dawned upon a sadder pict- 
ure than that made by Floy, sobbing so piteously by 
her little table. Dr. Osborne stroked her hair tenderly 
as if she were his own daughter. ‘‘Brave little woman, 
you mustn’t give up so. Live for your mother and the 
little folks!” 

“O I’m so sorry for him!" she sobbed. ‘‘Scarce any- 
body cares if he is dead, and he was honest in his prin- 
ciples as any of us. ’ 

‘ That’s so, Floy. And now more excuses can be 
seen. I’m going down town now — what arrangements 
shall I make?” 

‘‘Will you ask Rev. Miller to have a short service 
here, please? Harvey and ma thinks the funeral will 
have to be this evening. Harvey said he’d get the 
clothes. ” 

The news of the death of Aaron Morris, who had been 
familiarly dubbed ‘‘Rebel Morris,” ‘‘Old Southerner,” 
etc., during these years of strain upon the public mind, 
went like wild-fire through the village, and more kindly 
words were spoken in twelve hours of that Christmas- 
day, than had been said concerning him for the last 
four years. 

■‘He was honest,” nobody ever doubted that; ‘‘he 
acknowledged he was hard on Will,” that counted more 
than anything else in his favor. ‘‘He was always good 
to Flov whom he loved dearly” — These kind truths 
came out at last. And many sleds and sleighs drove 


326 


IVH/IT IT COST; OR 


down to the house that evening to go with Floy — every- 
body felt Floy was the principal mourner — to lay her 
old father in his last resting place. 

A few impressive words from Rev. Miller, whose 
ill-health this year kept him from an active charge, and 
who had always visited the lone man. 

In terse, clear terms, he made excuse for him. “You 
can’t transplant an old tree, and ’tis just as hard to 
change an old man’s opinions, when rooted firmly by 
principles and early training.” 

Floy’s white face and suppressed sobs touched the 
tender chords in the hearts of the people. But their 
looks of pity and tender words were almost resented by 
Floy, for no kind word, no excuse had been given him, 
in his cold isolated life. The sad rites were over; the 
people dried their tears, and life ran on merrily as be- 
fore, but Floy did not forget. Aunt Polly wept ten- 
derly, now, o’er the husband with whom for twenty 
years she had been happy, and thanked God that in the 
great hereafter, no mistakes, no misunderstandings 
can enter. 

“What have I to live for, now?” The sad, dejected 
heart revealed in the tear-stained face raised toward 
Grace’s, as the young mother slipped her arm around her 
sympathetically, brought the tears into the violet eyes. 

“Live for those who love you!", quoted Grace. 
“Now so many hearts are sad and bleeding from the 
wounds made in the South. Floy must help and cheer 
us all. ” And in the dreary days that followed that sad, 
sad, Christmas, Floy tried smiling for her loved ones, 
but oh, the many nights she wept “when only God was 
near. ” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


HOME-COMING 

The winter-snow gave place to spring-rains, the 
wrens came back and sought the old nests under the 
eaves or in the barn; still the war continued in all its 
fierceness. 

But the great forces were drawing to a focus; the 
climax must soon be reached; the shout of victory 
would soon be borne to the ears. of the weary watchers 
of the home-guard. "On to Richmond” was no long- 
er the Northern cry; for Grant had been there, and 
gone again, to receive at Appomatox, the surrender of 
the chivalrous Lee and his veterans; this was followed 
closely by the surrender of Johnston’s whole army to 
the "Old war horse,” Sherman, whose gallant forces 
had split the Southern Confederacy in its celebrated 
march from Atlanta to the sea. 

An electric thrill of joy was sent through every 
Northern heart, as the news sped through the country 
on the tingling wires. The glad shout of victory which 
went heavenward mingled the loud cheering voices of 
patriotic men with the hysterical half-laugh, half-cry 
of wives and mothers, and the glad ‘papa’s coming 
home now” of babies. 

The war was over. The Stars and Stripes — symbol 
of national grandeur and home-comfort, unsurpassed 
in history — flapped proudly over the North and the 

327 


tVH^T IT COST; OR 


m 

South. Then the surviving soldiers — men who had 
closed the ranks when their comrades had been mowed 
down like grass, had braved and survived the terrible 
fire at Vicksburg and Shiloh — then these gallant braves 
and true patriots marched in grand review through the 
streets of Washington and were disbanded. Uncle 
Sam shook his fat sides, (if he was "financially busted”) 
as the boys in blue boarded the first train and turned 
their anxiously flushed faces homeward. 

Anxious tear-stained faces were transformed as if by 
magic into beaming happy ones; steps of infirm moth- 
ers and fathers took on the elasticity of youth; frail 
wives grew rosy as the lightning-winged messenger 
sped through the North, saying: "The army— its mis- 
sion gloriously performed — is disbanded, and the boys 
are marching home again.” 

Not all coming; thousands would never come; many 
were sleeping in unknown graves where no loving 
hand might plant a flower — no gentle voice breathe a 
silent prayer. But many were coming — troops worn 
by weary march and exposure to the scorching suns of 
summer or sleeping out in all kinds of weather — com- 
ing, with loss of limb or suffering from a hidden bul- 
let, but coming. 

Mapleton had echoed and prolonged the glad shout 
of each victory, and waited impatiently the disbanding 
of the army. At Elm Cottage as everywhere, they could 
think and talk of nothing else. Will was coming 
soon! 

Grace went down one day for the mail, and to her 
own trembling hands the white-winged messenger 


came. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


320 


“From Will!” she cried; and to an anxious crowd 
read; “Have been reviewed at Washington and are 
here (Chicago) on our way home. We have engaged 
passage for our company at midnight, if we can find 
none earlier. Thank God, the Union stands upon her 
feet again, and we’re coming home!” 

“The Lord be praised! ” devoutly exclaimed old Rev. 
Miller, the glad tears streaming down his cheeks, 
while the cheers that broke upon the stillness told the 
people at the further end of the village that the good 
news had, at last, come. 

Up the street Grace, almost flew, waving her letter 
joyously at Mrs. Edwards and many other anxious 
home-folks who were waiting the glad tidings. 

Running up the gravel walk to mother Osborne, 
standing with a patient smile on her face, she kissed 
her fondly, tenderly, remembering that the dear boys, 
who had left that home full of hope and high 
ambition, proudly keeping time to the music of the 
fife, would not come back with the laurels they had 
won. The quivering lips told of the submission to 
the will of Him who said: “Rejoice with those that 
do rejoice.” 

She only said, “Thank God, the war is ended. 
Go and tell Aunt Polly.” 

Though Grace never walked faster in her life, she 
never seemed longer on the road. 

Floy saw her rapid gait while she was yet far down 
the road, and came running with glad expectant face 
to know “When?” Gwen followed as fast as her little 
feet could patter, calling, “Mamma’s tummin. Mam- 
ma tummin! My Foy yun to meet my mamma. ” Grace 


330 


IVH^T IT COST; OR 


soon clasped her close saying, “papa’s coming to-mor- 
row! oh baby, papa’s coming!" 

Floy, forgetting the dignity belonging to a memb'er 
of the class of ’64 and a young lady of seventeen, bran- 
dished her broad hat in the air with wild hurrah, and 
bounded from one side of the road to the other, more 
jubilant than she had thought she could be again, since 
the sad experiences of last winter. But a sad, sad look 
took the place of the merry one as she said, “Oh, if 
only they were all coming back! " and there arose a 
vision of a happy, bright-faced boy, who stood that 
sad day upon the platform, as the train went out of 
sight, waving his blue cap to the group at the station 
weeping for them; it rose again, and a great sob pre- 
vented her from shouting the good news of, “Will’s 
coming! ” to Aunt Polly, who came to the gate now with 
Grant in her arms. 

“At last, at last, mother!" Grace called. “They’re 
coming home to-morrow!" and she echoed the “Thank 
God! " that came with a sigh of relief from the aged 
lips that kissed Grant as if he had been the “Hero of 
Appomatox. " 

That same mail brought letters to other homes, and 
all through the village and country rang the three glad 
words of “coming home to-morrow." 

While the tongues were running fastest at the cot- 
tage the gate clicked and, answering a loud exultant 
rap at the door, Floy met the excited face of Mike 
McGuire. 

“I came to tell you. Miss Grace," he panted — (ever 
since Grace had taught in the Grammar department 
Mike had been her sworn all}'), “the sojers are a-cum- 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


3ai 

min’ this blessed minit. Ivery soul of ’em! Faith an 
yer father told me hisself, and a telegram came to him 
this very minute. Yer man, me .father and the whole 
lot ov them are coming.” 

The boy was excitedly twisting his cap all the 
while, and gaining greater velocity with each sentence 
until now the words fairly flew. 

“Yes, Mike, coming home to stay now; no more 
rebel bullets to face,” said Aunt Polly, while Grace 
gave him a chair and spoke volumes of glad sympa- 
thy in his smiling face, 

Floy laughed good-naturedly at Mike, while she 
urged Gwen to say to him — “My papa tummin, too, 
boy ! ” 

"They’re agoin^ to hab a jublim’ down town, they 
are, bejobbers, and they’re goin’ to gib ’em — hark! I 
heern the men a talkin; goin to hev ivery house in 
town desolated with flags and posies and musickins 
and iverybody at the depot- to meet ’em. Och! Fm 
bustin’ to see it all! We’re goin’ to hev a whalen old 
bonfire to-night;” and away he started, but Grace 
called him back. 

“Say, Mike, did the message say where the boys are 
now? ” 

“Yes ’um; to be sure it did! Faith an’ that’s the 
same the doctor asked me to told yees, sure! I like to 
forgot it entirely.” 

‘‘Well, where did it say?” too impatient to even 
smile at Mike’s confusion. 

‘‘Why, at Burlington, to be sure, and it’s a big supper 
they er goin’ to gib ’em down there, and they’ll stort 
right early in the mornin’ fur home! the doctor said 


332 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“Say, I’ll tell you what!” said Floy. “We ought to 
have a banquet for our boys to-morrow night. Let’s 
do it! Give them a rousing welcome; and such a sup- 
per that they’ll think they’ve reached the land of milk 
and honey.” 

“Why that’d be good, but we’ve no time to get 
ready. That’d suit me powerful well though;” and 
Aunt Polly, who had flown at the churning Floy had 
left, to look for Grace, pounded the milk with unusu- 
al energy as she kept time to her thoughts with the 
dash. “Might call the W. S. A. S. this evening and 
arrange it.” 

“Yes; and we could send word out into the country 
for soldiers’ families to come,” said Grace with growing 
interest. “Let’s get to work at once. ’Twill take 
quick work, but I think we can push it through; let’s 
put our heads together for the best way to circulate 
the news.” 

“Why, just let Mike and I go down town and tell 
it, and it will circulate itself!” and Floy’s sun-down 
was on in a minute. 

“Wait! What are you going to tell ’em? ’Pears to 
me you’re pretty sudden!’' said Aunt Polly, “There’s 
the doctor driving by, call him;” but no use to suggest 
that for Floy was half-way to the gate and the loud 
“Hurrah! Good!” told that Doctor Osborne was in for 
a hearty reception. 

Floy and Mike rode with him to help call the meet- 
ing at the hall at six o’clock, only two hours away, 
the doctor and Mike were to make announcements to 
the crowd in street and stores, of the supper and meet- 
ing to arrange for it; Floy got Lois and Marne and 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


333 


went to the members’ houses. Bills were run off and 
pasted up by small boys, while larger ones were de- 
tailed in various directions to bear news of the sup- 
per. 

A promiscuous crowd gathered at the hall in exuber- 
ant spirits. The greatest excitement prevailed, but a 
royal banquet was planned — the ladies’ work supple- 
mented by that of the citizens. As the crowd was 
gathering at the hall, Hannah Edmonds came driving 
by, as Mike came bounding down the stairs, and he 
had the exquisite pleasure of seeing her eyes “pretty 
nigh pop out of her head” as he broke the news to her. 
“Old Dobbins” went down town faster than he ever 
did in his prime, and straight to the postoffice. No 
mail; but that made no difference in the glad heart; 
she hadn’t expected any. She stopped at the store, 
bought coffee, rice, and white sugar — all rare articles 
it the farm — and was so talkative that the clerk scarce- 
ly recognized her. 

“Pll make a sweet cake to-night,” she said to Mrs. 
Edwards,” who came down from the hall as she drove 
back; "Jack alius liked them and Pll fry doughnuts, 
roast three hens and bake pies for the doin’s to-mor- 
row night. I reckon yer can’t find nothing good 
enough for yer captain. " 

Here Marne and some of the girls came running 
down, and Marne stopped to talk, while she waited 
for Floy. It pleased Hannah, but Marne wished she 
had not stopped for she saw a dozen or more stop to 
look at them with a knowing smile, and she knew 
that some were saying that she was already setting her 
cap for Jack Riley. Jack was coming home a sar- 


334 


M^HAT IT COST; OR 


geant, and with such a reputation for pluck and bravery 
that he would be more of a “catch” than the “Rough 
and-ready” Jack Riley used to be. Fred Linden 
passed them and gave Marne such a low bow, taking 
Ids cap reverently off, that Marne blushed violently, 
though she declared to Flo}^ a few minutes later, “she 
longed to box his ears!" Hannah noticed the extra 
bow and snapped her eye at the impudent youth, for 
she thought she was “laughed at” again. 

Floy came running down then, and she and Marne 
walked off together, Marne going a few steps with 
Floy that they might have a good talk. 

“Fred passed while I was waiting, and you should 
have seen his low bow and mocking smile, with hat 
removed.” Floy looked questioningly, and Marne 
went on: “He meant that I was courting Hannah 
Edmonds for somebody else, you know!" and Marne’s 
laugh had a merry ring, 

“Look here, Marne, what are you going to do with 
both of these boys?” and Floy looked deep into the 
blue eyes; “Jack Riley is a soldier, ‘true blue,’ and 
has suffered enough not to be wounded now in his 
home-coming. I like his whole-souledness any way." 

A thought of a sad scene, wherein Jack Riley was a 
prominent character, brought a flush to her cheek for 
a moment but really she couldn’t blame him for one 
mistake when so many had been made; and then, when 
her father had proved himself blameless Jack had 
asked his forgiveness. 

Marne leaned against a maple by the roadside, resting 
her pink cheek on her hand, making a pretty picture, 
but vouchsafed never a word, and Floy continued: 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


335 


“Fred is a splendid boy, and smart — intellectual, I 
mean — *why don’t we speak as well as we know! He 
has been going with you all winter, and been encour- 
aged to do so. Don’t say you haven’t tried to be 
agreeable; don’t I know?” 

“Am I going to be lectured now?” asked Marne 
trying to look hurt, though the black eyes shone. 

“Well what are you going to do now with Jack and 
Fred? ” 

“O now, Floy, don’t look at me like that — we don’t 
know that either of these young gentlemen would care 
to pay me further attentions Fred is jolly and I like 
to be with him, but I have never hinted that he might 
be preferred to any of the other boys, and Jack Riley, 
for all he’s such an ‘out-and-outer,’ doesn’t write a 
mite of sentiment; so you see there’s no occasion for 
alarm. ” 

“Marne, just as sure as Jack Riley comes home, and 
he’s coming to-morrow, you’ll have to choose between 
them, and ’twill serve you right, you little flirt— yes 
)AOu are a flirt — I might omit the adjective perhaps 
— and if ’tis slightly embarrassing ’twill serve you 
right, only I want you to do the right choosing.” 

“Then would you be kind enough to tell me which 
one?” Marne still laughed, though Floy could see that 
she had a great deal of earnestness back of the smil- 
ing front. 

“Jack of course. True, Fred is one of the 64s, 
book-keeper now in his father’ s store, and perhaps will 
become one of the firm by and by, and of course he’s 
‘tony’, but he’s stingy too; and besides all that, Jack 
Riley js ^ soldier; enlisted in the first call for men. 


336 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


and deserves first place,” and Floy’s eyes showed the 
earnestness with which she was talking. Soldier-boys 
deserve the preference now. Hurrah for the ‘boys 
in blue,”’ and with a school-girl kiss and “good-night" 
the girls parted for their respective homes. 

Lights shone far into the night all over Mapleton, 
and many frosted cakes, dressed chickens, pies and 
doughnuts, were waiting the home-coming, ere the 
candles were blown out. Out at Elm Cottage, Aunt 
Polly made six cherry and six gooseberry pies, tripping 
round as if but sixteen years old, and singing snatches 
of songs learned at the huskings and wool-pickings of 
her girlhood-days. Grace sang Gwen and Grant to 
sleep with lullabys of “papa,” and stirred up a pyra- 
mid cake very like the one she sent in the Christmas 
box of ’6i ; “Welcome Home” was inscribed thereon, 
instead of “Merry Christmas,” her face beaming with 
happiness while she did it. 

Floy dressed the turkey, ready to begin roasting, 
the first thing in the morning, and arranged small 
bouquets from house-plants for other cakes. 

The next morning, the town was all excitement. 

A liberty pole was raised, on the top of which exult- 
antly floated the Stars and Stripes. Across the princi- 
pal street that led from the depot, a large flag was 
suspended with the picture of Lincoln, the martyr 
president, and Grant and Sherman beneath it. 

“Coming home! Coming home to stay!” was echoed 
through the streets, and whispered by many wives and 
mothers as they smoothed the hair of the children, all 
so changed in size during the long absence. 

"Will has never seen United States Grant, you 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


337 


know," said Grace, that morning, as the doctor trotted 
both him and Gwen on his knee. 

The doctor, and Mrs. Osborne had driven up to talk 
and lay plans. "Won’t it be a treat to see Will grab 
him though?" and the doctor laughed at the thought 
of it. "Say, drape a flag round him for a dress, can’t 
you? ” and the doctor held him up while the women all 
laughed. 

"He’d look lots prettier in the white embroidered 
dress mother gave him," said Grace. 

"I’ll take matters into my own hands if you won’t 
help me," and the merry twinkle told them something 
was coming. "He’s to be dressed in pants, army blue, 
and we’ll wrap a flag round him for a shawl! ” 

A chorus of laughter followed this declaration, but 
the doctor vowed ’twould be just the thing, and Floy 
thought so too. 

"But we’ve no time now to get a suit of men’s 
clothes made; ’tis nine o’clock now, and we must be 
at the hall at half past ten, and the train will be in 
at three,” further objected Grace. 

"You just cut them out — pants and coat from the 
old suit Will left and I’ll make them on Mrs. Os- 
borne’s machine and have them here by twelve 
o’clock,” said Floy, flying to the closet and bringing 
out a suit of army-blue. 

Aunt Polly thought it would be a capital joke, so 
the case was won, for pants. 

How they laughed when, at half past one o’clock, 
Grant was put in his suit of blue! the two big brass 
buttons the doctor had Floy put on the coat, looked 
larger than the tiny hands that played with them. 

22 


338 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Grace took his cloak along, too, but when they started 
from the Osborne home the doctor carried Grant with 
only a white bonnet, which mother Osborne had con 
structed after Floy left, above the huge flag which 
enveloped him. 

Gwen was dressed all in white — pure white — with a 
badge of red, white and blue ribbon on her right 
shoulder, and from her seat in the baby-buggy in- 
formed the passers-by: 

“That’s my boy-baby! — my boy-baby doin^ to meet 
my papa,’’ and she put up her baby mouth — too sweet 
for anything except to be kissed. 

The streets were thronged with excited people, wag- 
on loads of them coming in from the country and the 
whole of the village in motion toward the depot. 

The “Home Guard’’ were out in full. Grandma 
Clayton, with Jimmie’s two little boys wearing panta- 
loons and suspenders now, and each wondering what 
their "pa” would say about how they had grown. 

Long before the train was due, Kate McGuire, with 
all six boys, was on the platform, but she had hard 
work to keep them, and only the thought that Pat 
might miss them induced her to try. Mike slipped 
off in spite of promised nuts if he’d be good, much to 
Kate’s dismay lest he’d get “jammed gin the keers” by 
the crowd. 

A haunting dread overshadowed Hannah Edmonds’ 
face as, ever and anon, she elongated her body and 
peered over the heads about her, down the road for 
the tr^iin. 

*T alius wuz a leered of the pesky thing,” she mut- 
tered half aloud, to the evident amusement of a merry 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


3:i9 

group of school-girls; but for once their giggling didn’t 
worry her. “ ’Twill be a miracle if it don’t run off 
that curve and kill ’em all right before our eyes.” 

Marne and Floy stood arm in arm behind Gwen’s 
buggy; for they wanted to see Will’s meeting with 
the children; they were wondering who they’d see first 
and how they would get to their brothers. 

Lois couldn’t be found anywhere, though ’twas no 
matter of alarm in such a promiscuous crowd. 

A whistle-down, below the curve, brought all heads 
up at least three inches higher than was their wont, 
and with various expressions of the same glad expec- 
tations, the crowd involuntarily surged trainward. 

Were they coming? 

The engine puffed boastfully. Yes; they were com- 
ing; the front platform has blue caps showing. 

Panting, puffing, screeching with delight at the 
happiness it bore, came the iron-armored steed; lips 
smiled and quivered. 

“There’s Pat McGuire on the lower step of the front 
car!” exclaimed Aunt Polly; “do you see anything of 
Will?” but Grace’s answer was lost in the cheers of 
the watchers and shouts of the home coming. 

The Mapleton Cornet Band blowed like fifteen min- 
iature bellows upon “Home again,” but ’twas all lost 
breath, for the bo3's broke rank and came pell-mell — 
each, as if by magic, to the one waiting for him. 

“There’s John! Oh! ” and Marne went flying to meet 
the broad-shouldered 3^oung captain who, after giving 
a hasty survey oi the crowd bounded down the steps * 
and was caught in the long embrace of a wrinkled- 
faced old lady who had elbowed her way toward 


340 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


him. Floy’s big eyes were filled with tears that fell 
unheeded as she thought of that one whose coming 
would have made this so complete. She turned invol- 
untarily to Doctor and Mrs. Osborne to see them both 
weeping, he caressingly stroking the bowed head. 

“Will! Will!” cried Grace excitedly at her side, and 
on the platform of the car the fine, proudly borne 
form of William Morris was seen, standing a moment 
to scan the sea of faces for the one which had haunt- 
ed his dreams. He seemed to have heard that voice 
above the din, for a happy light made the face shine, 
as waving the left hand involuntarily, he sprang with 
boyish agility from the steps into the arms of Grace 
and Aunt Polly, who, laughing and crying simultane- 
ously, caught him. Aunt Polly pounding him on the 
back, as if he were a naughty school-boy. 

' Here, let me see him a minute! " cried Floy laugh- 
ing till the tears chased one another down her cheek. 
Will put them aside to clasp the tall graceful figure, 
while he thought sadly of the lonely grave in the 
church-yard, and the sad events which had driven the 
roses and much of the old-time merriment from Floy’s 
face. 

“My babies!" but ere the words had left his lips, 
Doctor Osborne had put the bundle in the flag into 
his arm, and thrown back the flag. 

Proudly, fondly, Will kissed his "boy in blue,” 
kissed him again and again, and with a hearty laugh 
that brought the crowd surging about him, held up the 
eight-months-old boy in pants! 

Grant laughed and cooed in high glee at being 
tossed in his favorite way. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


341 


"Hoopy-doo, boy-baby!” called Baby Gwen, stand- 
ing up in her baby-buggy and tossing up. both little 
hands. Will almost dropped his boy in his eagerness 
to seize her. 

"Take him, take him!" and then hurried to rain 
kisses all over her pretty baby-face, while Jack Rile}^, 
shaking off the sobbing. Hannah with: "Don’t cry so, 
if I have come home,” proposed three cheers for 
"United States Grant Morris.” 

They were given with a vim, while the object of the 
ear-splitting hurrahs, pulled the two big brass buttons 
on his soldier-coat in great astonishment, but laughed 
his appreciation as the echo died away. 

Jack returned the warm greetings of the ladies, 
though ’twas a new thing to him,- and he blushed like 
a school-girl, Hannah hovering near him in real ma- 
ternal pride; but Hwas plain he was looking for some 
one else, so Floy whispered, "right through that crowd 
to the left,” and following with his eyes he saw Marne 
in a new pink cambric shaking hands right and left 
with the "blue caps,” and in a minute, had both her 
plump hands in his own vice-like grip: 

"Hello, little rose-bud,” he said in tones her mother 
didn’t hear, "aren’t you going to welcome all the Yanks 
home? ” 

"O goody, good! I’m so glad!” next instant, Marne’s 
face burned scarlet at her impulsive rush. "Glad to 
have the war over and you all back home again! Wel- 
come, welcome home!” Then she drew her hands 
away as something in his eyes made her think of the 
great impropriety of the position. 

"Are you glad?” and the smile that lit up the sun- 


342 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


tanned face made it handsom or at least Maine 
thought so, as she adroitly drew the subject from 
themselves to the united happy people about them. 

One of the band noticed this meeting, and a fierce 
look gleamed in his eye as he turned to his music- 
sheet, and the discord made just then, caused the 
leader to look straight at Fred Linden. 

Floy saw that too, and thought “Bless them;’’ and 
a sad lonesome look came into the big gray eyes as 
"Oh, Harry, Harry! If you had only come back!’’ went 
up from her heart. 

“Where’s Lois?’’ asked Will. 

“Here!” rang a clear voice as Lois made her way 
toward him, with outstretched hands, forgetting that 
Will had but one, closely followed by the young man 
in captain’s uniform who had found her at the further 
end of the platform and given the tiny hands such a 
strong pressure that a red spot still showed on them. 
Doctor Osborne on behalf of the citizens invited the 
company to the banquet, and a grander spectacle was 
never witnessed in Mapleton than when the victorious 
heroes filed up the street to the tune of “The girl I left 
behind me,” accompanied on either side by a jubilant 
crowd. As they passed under the hanging banner with 
its three hero-portraits, a loud enthusiastic cheer burst 
from the soldier citizens and the air was full of blue 
caps in an instant. 

At the hall Judge Burton’s speech was responded 
to by Col. Morris. The supper was superb. The 
table fairly groaned with tempting viands and was 
beautifully decorated with flags and flowers. ’Twas 
arranged for the “boys” to be served first and together ; 


DEBTOR ARD CREDITOR 


343 


but they broke rank at Will’s suggestion and each ate 
With his own wife, or sweetheart, and ~ many with 
children on their knees. Will’s laugh rang high 
among the many, with Grace on one side, Aunt Polly 
on the other, Gwen on his lap and Grant on Grace’s. 

Floy, Marne, and Lois — in fact all of the 64s — were 
among the waiters. Captain Edwards and Sergeant 
Riley did not eat with the first table, but later, with a 
table full of laughing young people, they sat down 
with Lois and Marne. The captain was talkative to- 
night, even jolly, and Lois surprised every one with 
her sparkling wit. Guy, Fred, and Carl, had served 
with the girls, and now were getting their reward 
by sitting at supper with them. Floy and Guy were 
thrown together; they had always been chums, and 
then Floy felt more kindly toward Guy because he 
had been Harry’s best friend; and to-night her thoughts 
were full of sad memories of him and the home-coming 
she had planned for in the happy days before that 
“Missing at roll” had paled her cheeks and darkened 
her joyous life. 

She admired Guy too, and, since he had left col- 
lege, ten days before its close, on purpose to help 
welcome the returning soldiers, she had thought still 
better of him. Marne was surprised at herself and 
surprised the lookers-on, with her brilliant remarks 
that came so fluently to-night; she wondered why she 
had so much to say to Jack Riley, and how proud she 
felt of him, whom she had rather patronized in the 
long ago. Fred gave her a withering glance occasion- 
ally and then was devotion itself to Emma Bur- 
ton, superb to-night in light blue silk; but Marne 


344 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


smiled saucily back, to Floy’s intense satisfaction. 

"Come, let’s go home,” said John, soon after supper, 
drawing Lois away from the merry crowd that had 
nearly shaken his arm off. ‘ I want you all to myself, ” 
and he whispered something that brought the color, 
dying her cheeks like red carnations. "Do you know 
Lois, when we heard of Lee’s surrender, I cried like 
a child, and then shouted with the whole army until 
my throat was sore, because the scenes of war were 
virtually past, and home, with its comfort and dear 
home-folks was ours again. One face dearer than all 
the world beside, I could see.” 

"Your mother’s — yes;” said Lois softly through glad 
tears. The gallant captain caught her in his arms 
and covered her face with passionate kisses, saying 
all manner of little nothings scarcely expected of sen- 
sible John, and the minutes flew into hours unheeded. 

*Twas late — it must . have been — though John had 
stopped the clock at eleven — when Lois asked demure- 
ly — "When are* you going home. Captain Edwards? 
The soldiers have been sleeping on downy feather- 
beds in their happy homes for some time. Why is 
your ‘home-coming’ postponed?" 

"I’m on picket duty to-night — but my home isn’t 
ready for me until you go to it with me. Say, when 
can I have my own home blessed and cheered by my 
own darling wife? Say when, right away. Think of 
the roughing it I’ve gone through. I want to settle 
down now; lay aside the soldier uniform and soldier 
life — don the dress of a citizen and work formy wife. ” 

"A poet and didn’t know it,” laughed Lois. "I 
can’t get ready for a long time, though. Now don’t 
look disappointed; please don’t!" 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


345 


“Now in two weeks, at the furthest, we’re to be 
married. Peaceably if we can, forcibly if we must. 
Say yes and I go at once, home to my mother; say yes, 
quick, for I want to see the dear old place awfully 
bad, and it’s most daylight." 

“Well, may be; your ma’s anxious to see you, I 
know. ” 


CHAPTER XXV 


WEDDING BELLS 

"Dang it all!" and Jack Riley stopped whistling 
his troubled air, though heM no idea that heM been 
doing so, and shelled seed-corn with renewed vigor. 
‘T wish I wasn’t so hard up! but Pm busted and it 
aint no use to think any more about it. But con- 
slam it! I can’t think of anything else! 1 haint got a 
home to offer her and she deserves a fine one — the little 
beauty. By Joe! I’d work my finger-nails off to dress 
that girl in silk. But I can’t get started to make any- 
thing. Here’s this eighty acres twixt Aunt Hannah 
and me; an old log-house; stable of the same kind; 
Dobbins on his last legs, one cow and two hogs! 
’Twould seem like paradise with little Marne here, 
smilin’ at a feller, but oh pshaw! she wouldn’t if I could 
ask her, and I couldn’t if she would. Some day, I’ll 
pound up my cheek and out with it though, and tell her 
when I get a cage fit for her I’ll catch her" — absently 
pouring the seed-corn on the granary floor and putting 
the cobs in the sack. "If only she would’nt make 
such bright eyes at me; but what is a feller to do? 
When she tosses her head over on one side and looks 
up so sassy like, I just am busted up.” And a menyv 
laugh ended the soliloquy, as the memory of last 
night’s gate-scene came up again. 

Marne had been bright and saucy all the way home 
3-lG 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


347 


from church, and when, at the gate, he let her pass, 
she looked too pretty for Jack to resist kissing her, 
so he did, as conscience dictated. 

“Shame! what would my mother say? Naughty 
boy!” she had said, but didn’t look very much offend- 
ed, then ran into the house and left him. 

“B-r-e-a-k-f-a-s-t ! ” called Hannah from the kitch- 
en-door. And, as Hannah watched Jack tie the 
sack, bring his hand-planter and come ready to start 
from there to the field, her face took on a kinder, 
more contented look than it had for years. 

"O, ye must take time to eat your vittles and ye 
don’t need to stew around havin’ everything just 
ready to go to work the minnit yer swaller yer break- 
fast nuther. Take things more moderate and yer’ 11 
stand it longer, is my mott^er. ” 

“There’s so much to do, I want to pitch in with all 
my might,” said Jack, filling the tin wash-pan with 
the gourd ; this gourd looked natural and he remem- 
bered it always hung by the bucket. It now looked 
homelike to him. 

“Everything’s out of whack tho’ ; and I don’t know 
where to begin. “ 

“I calkerlate to help you plant the corn, I can cover 
with the hoe. I did let things run down, I spose, 
but I was bizzy raisin’ nuff to eat and keep Dobbins;” 
and Hannah thought to herself that Jack hadn’t left 
the fences in repair by any means, but she wouldn’t 
hurt his feelings now, when he was trying with all his 
might. 

The boys had been at home since the previous Wed- 
nesday only, but Jack had fixed the garden fence, 


348 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


spaded up the beds, while Hannah planted her 
“truck,” and on Friday and Saturday had began 
plowing for corn; but had stopped that, discouraged, 
when old Dobbins couldn’t stand it, and this morning 
the way looked hard indeed. 

“I must get a team somehow; old Dobbins is dead in 
his tracks. I aint going to work an old stack of bones!” 
and Jack looked hard at the pork and eggs on his plate. 

Hannah watched him seriously a minute, with a 
knowing look in her eye. 

“ ’Tis kinder hard on a young feller that would like 
to cut shines with the gals, to drive such a nag as 
Dobbins, aint it?” 

Jack’s face reddened; the mention of this tender 
subject almost spoiled his good resolutions to make 
the best of the old place, and not growl nor mope. 

Hannah actually smiled as she went on, like a cat 
teasing a mouse she means to breakfast on: 

“Marne Edwards would put on airs sure enuff gala- 
vantin ’round behind Dobbins.” 

“Well, conslam it, you’re hard up for something to 
say! — ’taint so measly funny to be busted, that you 
need to throw it up to me. Perhaps I could strike a 
job in town and hire a livery team,” he said with a 
meaning look; for Jack was angry, though he knew 
Hannah didn’t mean to wound him. 

“There! Don’t get mad; you must stand a little fun, 
youk now I must crack my jokes, ” and Hannah laughed 
at her humorous spell. Jack smiled himself, for life 
usually was the wrong side out with Hannah. “How 
much would a two-hoss team cost now?” she asked. 


DEBTOR /IND CREDITOR 


349 


"Tisn’t any use to think about a team or even a plug 
horse to go with old bones; for I haven’t fifteen dollars 
in paper, and I haven’t spent a cent I could help!” 
and Jack looked sad indeed. 

"Well, ’tain’t goin’to cost nothin’ to be civil an’ an- 
swer my question on your guess on a team,” said Aunt 
Hannah, with eyes turned down on her plate. Jack 
thought she was hurt and was ashamed. 

"Well, you couldn’t get anything like a team for 
less than three hundred dollars, and it might as well 
be three thousand as far as I am concerned.” 

“I wonder who’s got one to sell?" went on Hannah. 

“Consarn it! It makes me mad to go on over it. 
Like as if ’twas of some use. There! I don’t want to 
talk rough before a lady. You see I’ve grown quite 
mannerly in associating with the Southern rebs, ha, ha! 
But I do want to be somebody, and it’s such blamed 
up-hill business,” and Jack leaned back in his chair 
quite despondent. 

Hannah scrutinized him closely. He looked a young 
Hercules — brown-faced, bright-eyed; and she was very 
proud of him and his roused ambition. 

"O well, boy, don’t stew over not ownin’ a team; 
ef yer’d have one like as not yer’d be a hankerin’ after 
somethin’ else just as hard. Yer’d want a wagon, 
may be; an’ then yer’d set yerself up for a buggy and 
new-fangled corn-planter, and there’s no end to the 
wishin’. I calkerlate this log- house wouldn’t set well 
with yer long, and ye’d keep a frettin’ and a graspin’ 
for more. It’s wicked to be so cravin’.” 

“O pshaw, don’t be green! ’Taint wicked to want 
some things to work with. What’s a fellow to do. 


350 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


drag the plow himself? No; if I had a good — even a 
fair team — and wagon, Pd be fixed. But I can’t go my 
face for them, and if I could get time on them, I 
could’nt pay for them in any kind of time.” 

"Well, if a team would satisfy yer there ain’t no use 
in parleyin’!” — and Aunt Hannah stepped out to the 
ash-hopper by the smoke-house, and began shoveling 
ashes out of it. 

‘‘Why, what’s up?” asked the astonished Jack. 

“Wait,” came the answer, coolly, and presently 
Hannah drew from the bottom of the pile a tin box, 
and hurried into the house with it, saying ‘‘Come in,” 
then thrust it into the hands of the wondering Jack, 
whose hands shook like he had the ague again. She 
couldn’t be joking, of course — who ever heard of Han- 
nah Edmonds playing a practical joke? He fumbled 
with the catch while these thoughts ran through his 
befogged brain, and now Hannah’s slim fingers had 
undone it for him; then she pranced delightfully around 
as Jack shouted: 

‘‘Where on earth did you get all this? — piles of 
money! — greenbacks! ” 

‘ It’s yours — I saved it for you — all the money you 
sent home — I never spent a cent! Count it! ” and her 
face shone with joy. 

‘'Three hundred and twenty dollars!” he almost 
gasped. Then grabbing Plannah he whirled her around 
and kissed the old wrinkled face fondly. 

‘ You always was too good to me, but who ever 
would have dreamed of this?” and Jack was so glad, 
Hannah felt quite paid for the stinting and saving she 
had done through the hard times. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


351 


Jack Riley didn’t plant corn that day, but went to 
town to look around for a team, and his step rang 
clear and firm on the sidewalk as he thought of the 
money in the tin box to pay for it. 

Marne saw him, as she was helping her mother till 
the garden, and blushed so prettily when he tipped his 
blue cap to her, that she reminded him cf the pink 
roses, out at the farm, pinned to his coat just as she 
pinned it at the banquet. 

"Will’s is the place to look for a team; I expect the 
Morris property has been divided, and Will has a 
young team, that I think perhaps you could get reas- 
onably." A mere thought of how ’twould be paid for, 
crossed Doctor Osborne’s mind, but ’twas followed by 
another that Jack was honest and would pay in time 
all right. 

Jack got the team next day. Floy hated to see 
them go, but knew they reminded Will of the unpleas- 
antness, and was glad to have Jack get them, if they 
must go. Lois was at Elm Cottage when Jack went 
for the team, talking quite confidentially with Floy, 
but although Jack spoke to them and laughed merrily, 
he thought neither compared with the "little gypsy" 
down town. 

"Now I can work — get-up! " as he drove exultantly 
down the homeward road. "We’ll get in a good crop, 
fix up the place as decent as I can, and next fall, 
little sweetheart, we’ll see what’s what! Fll put in 
my best licks for you, ‘bright-eyes;’ " and the rattle of 
the wagon and clatter of hoofs kept a fitting accompani- 
ment to Jack’s thoughts as he whistled merrily along 
until the old-fashioned log-house was visible through 
the trees. 


352 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


One big room, and a kitchen, an after-thought, 
built on the west, made the house. But ’twas pictur- 
esque in situation, surrounded by large locust trees 
and oaks, and looked “fair as the garden of the Lord” 
to Jack as he saw it now, feeling that he could face a 
world of difficulties. 

Wednesday evening, the alumni met at the school- 
house to plan for the reception of the Class of ’65. 
On similar occasions Fred had called for Marne and it 
gave her a little uneasiness — why, she didn’t try to ex- 
plain; but she grew very anxious to avoid Fred, and 
quite early got ready to go for Floy. 

“You look like a wild rose, little sister,” said John 
admiringly, as she donned the cambric. “Is there ugly 
thorns concealed to wound some poor fellow who’d 
daringly try to steal you?” 

“Oh! such sentimental comparisons from my sedate, 
sensible old John!” and Marne laughed, though she 
saw a covert meaning in the simile. “Mother, do you 
hear him? — flattering and filling your baby’s head with 
foolish fancies?” 

Mrs. Edwards smiled o’er the sewing; then sighed 
a soft little sigh, for her baby was growing into woman- 
hood so fast, and she fain would keep her baby. 

"If you’re going up to Elm Cottage, I guess I’ll go 
with you; I want to see Will a while. Shall you be 
lonely, mother? Come, go along; time enough to work," 
and the captain gallantly tied on the poke-bonnet, and 
the happy family went together. 

“I’m really sorry, Marne and I can’t stay here and 
all visit together,” Floy said, as the girls sat ready to 
set off to the society meeting. “I’m not nearly through 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


353 


visiting with Will, though I can’t get a word out of 
him about the war. We have to answer all the ques- 
tions ourselves.” Then to John, sub rosa: ‘‘Why 
didn’t you bring Lois and go up to the school-house 
with us? You’re such a sensible engaged couple, it is 
a comfort to have you around.” The mischievous 
twinkle in the gray eyes didn’t escape John’s atten- 
tion. 

‘‘Well, now you want to be taking notes upon the 
proper bearing, for I assure you ’tis a hard thing to be 
dignified and to conduct oneself properly,” replied 
the grave captain. 

‘‘That will be one thing I’ll never have to learn; a 
jolly old maid I mean to be. I’m going to apply for 
a position in the school here, next year,” she said. 
“Seriously now — and schoolma’am and old maid are 
synonymous words, you know. ” 

Then, arm-in-arm, Floy and Marne walked away 
slowly, to have a good walk and talk, not unusual to 
them, and John watched them, thinking of what might 
have been had Harry just returned. 

The girls agreed they’d go home together and alone. 
But Guy and Fred joined them, as they put on their 
hats; they couldn’t rudely tell them they preferred to 
be alone, particularly as the bo3^s didn’t ask them. 

At Marne’s gate, Fred asked if he could call for her 
Sabbath evening to go to church. Marne had feared 
this very thing, and had told Floy she should say em- 
phatically, “No thank you!” but ’twas entirely another 
matter to say it with an old school-friend, looking her 
full in the face, and pleading his cause with melting 
blue eyes, and Marne hesitated. 

S3 


354 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


‘Is some one else coming?” he demanded, a little 
peremptorily. 

“No” — in a tone which said, ‘‘I don’t know for sure, 
but expect he will.” 

“Well, what’s to hinder you then? say yes, of 
course. ' 

“Well — come then. Good-night," and she hurried 
in to throw herself into the rocking-chair and call her- 
self names, for not being brave enough to say “no” 
when she wanted to. 

“Of course Jack Riley doesn’t expect me to refuse 
other company if he doesn’t say he’s coming. How 
do 1 know that he cares to come? I haven’t done an}^- 
thing out of the way, and don’t need to have a funeral 
over it now.” But somehow, Marne didn’t feel good; 
Jack's face had grown clouded, she could see, and she 
knew he wanted to keep her all to himself and had 
said so by his expressions plain as English could say 
it. 

Floy scolded her till she cried. Then called her ‘‘a 
little goose” for doing so, but assured her she could 
make it straight afterward. 

Saturday evening, Marne went to the postoffice and 
met Jack Riley. She saw him ride past her on her 
way down, on one of his new horses. 

Jack was a fearless rider, straight as an arrow, and 
looked quite knightly to Marne now that Fred was the 
favored escort. As she entered the postoffice he was 
just opening a perfumed square envelope with a huge 
beJl on the back, which Marne recognized at once as 
a card to Rev. Miller’s reception after Lois and John’s 
marriage at the church. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


355 


Jack read it with: "Whew! that’s something like 
it. Hurrah for the captain! Taken a prize -in times 
of peace," and walked up the street with the captain’s 
pretty sister, though he wore a blouse and big straw 
hat. Fred passed them in a neat business suit and 
button-hole bouquet, and bowed smilingly at Marne but 
almost scowled at Jack, who gave him a condescend- 
ing "Good evening, Fred." 

At the gate, Marne invited him in and he went "to 
see John a few minutes." Of course John was down to 
Rev. Miller’s, but Marne entertained Jack so pleasant- 
ly in the cheery little sitting-room that his absence 
was endured patiently. 

"Say, I’m coming for you to go to church to-morrow 
night," he said as the clock struck nine, and he rose 
to go. 

"No, I’m real sorry, but you mustn’t. Fred Linden 
asked me first, and — and you hadn’t told me you want- 
ed to come — so how was I to know?" and the girl’s 
embarrassment helped Jack considerably, indeed he 
looked mischievous as he said: "Well, you just send 
Linden off; for I’m coming sure as the evening comes. " 

"O no! Please, Jack, I won’t let him come again 
ever — that is" — and the face was scarlet now — "you 
can call next time if you choose. Now be good! it’s 
all your own 'fault; why didn’t you say so in time!" 
and she looked defiantly into his face. 

"Well, this is time enough, and didn’t you know I 
\Vas coming again anyway?" Marne looked guilty, 
though she laughingly shook her head. 

"Well, I’m coming for you to-morrow night and if 
Linden is here, you’ll have to choose between us! " 


350 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


the very thing Floy had predicted and Marne dreaded 
so. 

“O, please don’t — ask anything else and 'tis yours! 
But spare me that. Td really hate to send you off, and 
of course I’d lie compelled to do so." 

She raised her eyes again, but they fell before the 
strange look in those bent upon her. 

‘‘Ask what I will and ’tis mine, why, little girl, do 
you know what you are saying? Don’t you see what 
I’d like- -what else I’d ask for if I dared? O, Marne, I 
love you so, and I’d ask for you, to be my own darling 
wife. Forgive me, Marne, for talking like this to you — 
when I’ve no home to offer you, and am not high- 
toned like Fred Linden; he can give you a better home 
than I can, and people say you’d made a handsome 
match, but oh, little darling Marne, he’ll never love 
you more or truer.” 

Marne had turned her head away during this pas- 
sionate outburst; but Jack thought he’d make a clean 
breast of it if it killed him. 

‘‘I’m only plain Jack Riley, but I love you more than 
all the world. This is no new thing to me, I’ve al- 
wa3^s loved you. For your sake. I’ll be somebody; will 
be a man good and true, if I can’t be fine. When 
I’ve a home for you, may I claim you, my own sweet 
black-eyed Marne?” He could hardly wait for the an- 
swer — and strong as he was he trembled like a leaf. 

"Yes,” she whispered, "and it need not be a tony 
one, neither.” 

Then Jack covered her face with kisses, and made 
her say: "I love you. Jack,” though Marne declared 
"’twas naughty. ” 


DEBTOR /IND CREDITOR 


35? 


"Now you won’t come to-morrow night, will you?” 
Marne asked slyly. 

"You just bet I will! Do you reckon I’d let that 
young swell go parading my girl around? not a bit of 
it!" 

"But my word is out; I can’t go back on my prom- 
ise, can I? You want me to hold a promise sacred, 
don’t you?” said Marne, eying him cunningly. 

"No, not that one; a bad promise is better broken." 

"Fred thought ’twas a good one, and how am I to 
tell him not to call without giving a reason?" and 
Marne did look perplexed. 

"Oh, I can tell him in a very few words, if that’s 
all,” said Jack. 

"Don’t you dare! you bad boy! But really. Jack, I 
think ’twould be better to keep the engagement since 
’tis made. I’ll be very decorous, and think of you all 
the time during the evening.” 

"Will you? Well, if I may see you soon again;” and 
Jack gave up, since the engagement was made. 

"We’ll go up to Elm Cottage, Monday eve, if you 
like,” said Marne, wondering what Floy would say at 
the whole arrangement. 

"Good! Well, I’ll stand Linden swinging you this 
once, but ’twill be harder than facing the rebs. ” 

Floy was provoked and didn’t hesitate to say so, 
when she heard that Fred was coming to church with 
Marne. So when Marne asked her to go home with 
her from afternoon Sunday-school next day, and stay 
until church, Floy gave her a decided; "No; I told 
you not to allow Fred to come, and now you must 
bear it! I feel more sorry for Jack than for you!” 


358 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


"O, don’t be so cruelly just. Remember how good 
I wish to be — am going to be I meaiij" said Marne, as- 
suming a penitent face, but wanting to laugh and tell 
Floy all about it. Floy’s mood didn’t invite confi- 
dence though, and Marne decided she’d wait. 

Evening came, and with it a crowd at church, for 
the company of husbands, sons and lovers induced 
many to go who usually stay for want of an escort. 
John and Lois were the interesting pair, of course, 
since one week from to-night their marriage ceremony 
would be performed before this altar. 

They thought of it, and a proud, happy look lit up 
John’s face, while Lois paled a mite — ’twould be giv- 
ing up her girlhood. Fred and Marne came in a little 
late. Marne believed Fred called for her later 
purposely, to let everybody see who she came with. 
And everybody saw, for they walked down one aisle 
without finding a seat and were motioned by the usher 
to the other side of the house, when Marne’s embar- 
rassment was relieved, as a voice whispered, "Here, 
Linden," and Jack with another soldier-boy gave up 
their seats. 

"Thank you," Marne whispered as she quickly 
passed in. Floy, from the choir, gave her a look 
which said: "Didn’t I tell you Jack was pure gold?” 

Next evening, Floy and Will were walking up from 
the old home, which was soon to be sold, when Jack 
and Marne came up the road, evidently on good 
terms, and Floy’s kindlier feelings for Marne came up 
at once. 

Such a merry time as they had at the cottage! 
Grace and Floy played, they all sang, but Jack, who 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


359 


claimed "he had no music in his soul, or rather had a 
great deal, for he had never got any out ’’ Gwen and 
Grant’s pretty ways and cunning speeches were 
laughed at o’er and o’er again. Will brought in the 
strawberries, and Aunt Polly the cream and cake to 
eat with them. 

"A home like that is a little earthly paradise,” said 
Jack as he took Marne’s arm and they walked home in 
the June moonlight. On either side, the maple trees, 
which gave the town its name, cast their long shad- 
ows in the road. 

"It makes one home-sick to see how cozy and happy 
Will looks with his family. Now if I wasn’t so ’tarnal 
poor! Excuse me, but if 1 wasn’t so poor, I could 
have a home and a darling wife too, right away — ” 

"O no, not right away — -my ma couldn’t spare me 
now,” interrupted Marne. "I don’t care a whit about 
a fine home. I could begin at the foot of the ladder 
and brave poverty and help to make a more comfort- 
able home without a pang of regret, but ma 'couldn’t 
let John and me both go now;” and Marne’s brave face 
pleased Jack immensely. 

"Bless your dear brave heart! I want a neat little 
frame cage for you; where you can rule with a high 
hand, and I want it by next fall at the farthest.” 

"Now, Jack Riley, we’ll do nothing of the sort! 
Your Aunt Hannah thinks the world of you, and we’re 
going to have her live with us,” said Marne emphatic- 
ally. 

"You’re an angel, Marne! But you don’t know Aunt 
Hannah, nor how poorly you could live together. 
She’s got a good ^gizzard,’ as the boys used to say, as 


3G0 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


ever was; but she’s rough on the outside and” — Jack 
wouldn’t finish that she was ‘‘cross and peevish,” for 
she’ had stood by him through “thick and thin.” 

“I know she’s peculiar, and may be sometimes gets 
out of sorts. So do I; but I’ve always felt sorry for 
her; she seemed to have such a sad, ‘go it alone’ ex- 
pression, and I want to give her a comfortable 
home and hearty welcome with us.” Marne was in 
earnest and the tears gleamed in her eyes at the 
thought. 

“You’re the best girl in the world, Marne! Hannah 
is to be pitied, and I’d be awful glad if she could 
have a home with us. But say, if we can live togeth- 
er, what’s the use of waiting? — what’s the matter with 
having a double wedding next Sunday night? we’ll do 
it! — ’twould be a capital surprise!” 

‘‘Next Sunday! O my! I couldn’t get ready, and ma 
wouldn’t really hear a word of it.” But ere Jack left 
her, she had promised to try, and would say for sure, 
Wednesday evening, if she should happen to see him. 

She saw him, and ’tvv^as arranged; Mrs. Edwards 
came into the room for a few minutes, but didn’t 
stay long, only held Jack’s hand in both her own 
while she said, “Be good to her. Jack” — and hurried 
out. 

Marne had told her mother and John together on 
Tuesday morning, and Mrs. Edwards fought the plan 
hard. She had other hopes for Marne; Jack Riley was 
a good boy, perhaps, but he was poor and not one of 
the “upper tens” like Fred. 

John championed the cause of Jack, both because 
he was a “boy in blue” and because he was a fine 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


361 


fellow, “with heart as true as ever beat beneath a coat 
of blue.” 

She was finally won over when Marne declared she’d 
marry no one else, and after breakfast the blue silk 
was brought out and tried on Marne with real mater- 
nal pride. 

Marne told no one but Floy, who laughed till she 
cried, and planned and planned, but felt so lonely as 
the time drew near and she thought: “If Harry had 
but come. ’ 

The church was crowded— jammed, that Sabbath 
evening, to witness the marriage of Captain Edwards 
to Lois Miller. Both had won such a high esteem in 
the hearts of the soldiers and their friends that many 
soldiers came from the surrounding country and 
brought their wives to welcome their captain into the 
ranks of the blessed. 

The church had been appropriately decorated the 
previous day by Floy, Will, and Grace, assisted by 
everybody they needed. A floral bell was suspended 
o’er the place where the vows would be exchanged, 
while flowers and bouquets were placed tastily every- 
where about the altar. 

Marne came up in the afternoon and helped, so no 
one would wonder at her absence. Rev. Boydston, 
the preacher on the charge, preached a good sermon, 
but the audience was restless and when he had ended, 
the choir’s singing was lost to the audience entirely, 
for all were watching the door. 

The bridal party came during the song. Rev. Mil- 
ler with his daughter — beautiful to-night, in pure white 
Sv,*isT. long white veil, and orange blossoms crowning 


362 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


her black hair — a face reflecting a soul as pure and 
good as her dress was spotless. 

The party of friends remained standing as John ad- 
vanced from another aisle which he had entered with 
his mother, followed by Marne and Jack. Marne wore 
a long white cashmere shawl, which quite enveloped 
her, and she looked pretty, though some wondered why 
she wore the shawl. 

Her mother stood slightly in front of her on taking 
their places. Guy walked with Floy, and Fred with 
Emma Burton. 

A lull fell. The firm, strong "I will” was followed 
by the lower, but quite as earnest pledge, from the fair 
bride. Rev. Boydston’s solemn voice said: "What 
God hath joined together, let no man put asunder! ” 
and John and Lois stepped aside. Rev. Miller took 
Rev. Boydston's place and Jack Riley and Marne stood 
under the floral bell! Marne had handed the shawl to 
Floy and revealed the blue silk wedding-dress that 
adorned the blushing bride. The surprise was com- 
plete — a cheer almost broke out, held only by Rev. 
Miller’s uplifted hand. 

The beautiful service was ended, Mr. and Mrs. Jack 
Riley stepped back with Capt and Mrs. Edwards. 
Rev. Miller prayed for the new homes just begun, 
and the party departed for Rev. MilleFs reception. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


CALHOUN ASHLEY 

Mapleton was not the only town whence grateful re- 
joicing went up to heaven; but frorh the Atlantic to 
the Pacific, from the Mason and Dixon line to the Can- 
adian boundaries, from city and from village — but not 
quite from every house — for in the North as well as the 
South there- were some who rejoiced when the Blue- 
coats had to turn their backs to the Confederates; some 
who showed in their faces the gladness felt in their 
cowardly hearts at the defeat of "the great general" 
Grant, at Cold Harbor, and who showed plainer still 
the treason and disloyalty they did not dare express in 
words, when Lincoln, the nation^ s chief and last love 
of the young republic, fell at the hand of such as they 
— devout thanks arose that the war was ended. 

That dear ones, absent so long, were flocking home 
on every train; that the horrible roar of cannon was to 
give place to the peaceful hum of the factory; that the 
musket was to be exchanged for the hoe, and, as of old, 
swords to be beaten into plowshares. 

The scene was also changed in the South. Where 
once bloomed the cotton-plant, now lay bleaching, 
’neath the Southern sun, the bones of real heroes — both 
■blue and gray. Where a few years since, stood the 
graceful orange and lemon groves, is now stretched 
a wilderness of dead brush, mowed by the plow in can- 

303 


364 


1VHA7 IT COST, OR 


non ball and whistHng musket-shot. But another 
change and mightier is wrought. The black man, no 
longer slave, goes not forth in fear of lash but in love 
of wife and child to earn a living for them. The 
planter no longer armed with whip and pistol, but 
with money or provisions goes to hire and not to drive 
his fellow-man. The dusky mother goes not forth with 
weeping to the auction block; but goes wTh her child 
in her arms to the sanctuary of the Lord, ;0 offer in her 
simple way her thankfulness for freedom. 

While the North had some disloyal sons, among the 
true blue bulk, the South held some loyal citizens 
whose love for the old flag clung to them, but alas ! 
many more, who torsook their love for the Stars and 
Stripes and went off after the strange gods of state rights 
and stars and bars, and they were men with as kind 
hearts and pure motives as were found in the North. 
Among the latter class, was Mrs. Ashley, and it was 
humanity ’alone, and her high sense of right, that 
prompted her to argue so earnestly and plead so pa- 
tiently with her husband to allow the young Union sol- 
dier, who lay so sick at the prison, to be brought to 
their elegant home near Andersonville. 

"The war is over now, and what excuse can you have 
for not permitting Cal to bring the boy who saved his 
life to our home, where he can receive proper care? 
The horrors of that prison is a black spot on the repu- 
tation of the South; you know it, all know it, though 
they may not acknowledge the fact! ” Mrs. Ashley sat 
at breakfast with her husband and Calhoun, their only 
child, whom Harry Osborne had helped after the storm- 
ing of Ft. McAllister. Before Mr. Ashley could make 


DEBTOR ARD CREDITOR 


365 


the objection his face threatened^ Cal added his appeal 
to that of his mother. 

“Father, I am willing to incur the enmity of every 
neighbor we have, rather than to suffer that noble boy 
to die in that miserable hole for want of care. He ran 
the risk of being captured to help me, when another 
five minutes would have ended m}^ life; he was taken 
prisoner on account of his noble action, and now, for 
us not to risk the displeasure of a few inhuman people 
is what I call ungrateful and cowardly, too. ’’ 

“Well, well ! Bring him, if you must, but don’t com- 
plain to me when our neighbors and friends snub us 
and dub us common Yanks. Go to him with your 
troubles and see how you feel then,” and the old man 
left his breakfast almost untouched and hurried from 
the house. 

“Now, Cal, you hitch up the horse to the spring 
wagon, put in the feather-bed and bring him here by 
noon. Your father will soon be over his pet and will 
treat the boy kindly, I know. One glance into his 
pale boyish face and one sound of his voice as he pit- 
eously calls for his friends would melt the hardest- 
hearted, outside of that wretched place; but I think 
those prison-keepers have become so accustomed to 
sights of misery and suffering that they don’t feel as 
others do.” 

Calhoun needed no urging, but was soon dashing 
down the road toward Andersonville. 

“Well, general, I came down to get that boy ; mother 
would insist on taking him out to the place and I — ” 
Cal started to say, “I feel that I owe him a debt of 
gratitude which I see a chance now, to pay,” but 


H^HAT IT COST; OR 


neo 

the burly old general interrupted him with a gruff: 

“Go out and see if he’s there first, for several have 
been taken away since yesterday and several more piled 
up out there ready for burying. But you can take him, 
if he’s there, for the quicker they are taken away the 
better; if I had my way we would soon be rid of the 
whole set.* No wonder we got whipped when half the 
South is begging for the Yankees’ lives." 

Cal passed out, leaving the old general cursing the 
“chicken-hearted women.” 

Once inside the barricades. Cal hastened to the cor- 
ner where he had left Harry lying the day before, and 
found him almost in the same place. 

“Harry! “ Harry! ’’ called he in frightened tones, 
fearing that help had come too late. 

Harry rolled up his glassy eyes quickly, for he ex- 
pected to see one of the prison-keepers and knew he 
would probably get a kick if he did not stir; for that 
was the usual way of telling whether a sick man was 
dead or alive. But when Harry saw who it was that 
bent over him and heard CaPs “I’m going to take you 
home!" he smiled through his pain and reached his 
wasted hand up in the most pitiful manner. 

“Oh,” he said, struggling to rise, “I shall see mother 
and Floy once more before I die. Oh, I’m so glad I 
helped you, for now you’ll take me away from this 
miserable tomb. Oh, take me quick, sir, please! " 

“That I will, poor boy, may be I can then pay you 
the debt I owe you. If you had not stopped to help 
me you would not have been here," said Cal Ashley. 
“Oh, I am to blame for this!" 

“Well, don’t worry about it, Guy--excuse me, sir, 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


307 


but I always think of Guy Harrington up in Iowa when 
I look at you. But only get me out of this dreadful 
place, I would so hate to die here.” And Harry strug- 
gled to his feet and leaning heavily on Cal tried to 
walk out, but took only two steps and sank down 
weakly exclaiming: 

“Guess 1 can’t make it. You will have to leave me 
here to die alone ; ^but do me one more favor please, 
write to my mother and Floy, away up in dear old 
Iowa. " 

Before he had finished speaking. Cal had hurried off 
and Harry, whose last hope fled with CaPs retreating 
form, gave up with a piteous moan for friends. 

Ah, if old Dr. Osborne could have seen him, he 
would have taken him in his arms and borne him 
swiftly to a place of refuge. If Mapleton could have 
known! 

“Please, sir, will you help me remove a sick boy to 
my buggy?” said Cal to one of the wardens whom he 
fancied had a kinder face than the others. 

“If you want the cussed Yankee out you can get him, 
but I don’t soil my hands with any of them!” came 
the flat refusal. 

“I will aid you, sir,” said a tall commanding young 
man who still wore the uniform of a Confederate offl- 
cer. “I went through the whole war but I hope I have 
some humanity left; it seems that these men who have 
never seen a battle have lost all. pity or even polite- 
ness. No wonder our cause was lost; it was a just 
judgment sent on us for tolerating the cruelties prac- 
ticed in this place.” 

,As he spoke, he and Cal made their way across the 
iieiv' ui human skeletons. 


3C8 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“I’m afraid you will never succeed in getting him 
over this fever,” he said bending over Harry and feel- 
ing his pulse. “He is very weak and only a boy, too. 
Is he a friend of yours; or why do you select him from 
among so many?" 

“He saved my life once; that’s the reason he is here, 
too,” replied Cal. “’Twas at McAllister, I was 
wounded in the thigh and would haye bled to death 
had he not saved me; and while he was yet with me 
a wagon came out taking in the wounded and they 
compelled him to go into camp as a prisoner, then hur- 
ried him with a few others off here. I begged for him 
but ’twas no use. I came here, a week ago, when the 
prisoners were released, I found him, and he knew me. 
My father is so prejudiced that, never until this morn 
ing, would he consent to have him brought to our house, 
and he did so very reluctantly then; though the scheme 
was warmly championed by my mother, who came with 
me once to see him. ” 

“Well, well!” said the other, interested in the story, 
“he is a noble fellow and deserves a hearty welcome 
from your father.” 

They had taken him between them and borne him to 
the buggy; their words seemed to be meaningless to 
him but he kept his eye, with a cold fixed stare, upon 
the young officer, never speaking until, when they had 
passed the huge gates, Cal told him he was “out of 
prison now!” 

“Oh, thank you, Gen. T — !” he said, smiling at the 
Confederate officer; “I knew you’d take me out or kill 
every rebel here!” 

Then he went on talking strangely about riding “Old 
Yaller” home, and about “Floy and mother." 


DEBTOR y4ND CREDITOR 


369 


"He’s delirious and must have medical aid soon or 
it will be too late,” said the Confederate officer. “You 
take him on to your home and I’ll see a doctor and 
send him up; only give me your address.” Cal wrote 
the address, and then with Harry curled snugly upon 
the feather-bed, bid good-bye to his humane helper and 
started for home. 

Mrs. Ashley was one of those even-tempered, though 
strong women, who are always the same, but who rule 
unconsciously both over themselves and those they in- 
fluence . When the news of the emancipation of the 
slaves had come and, on every hand, they were leaving 
their former masters, Samuel Ashley had been in a fury 
and, declaring that his property was his own and should 
not leave his plantation, had brought out his weapons 
of punishment to argue the case; though he seldom 
used any. 

His wife had shown him the utter uselessness of such 
resistance after the edict had gone forth; shown him 
the question had two sides and told him “he had always 
ruled by kindness, and now he must hold his men in 
the same humane way; for the sight of a whip would 
drive every one from the plantation. ” 

He was determined to try his own plan first, and did 
so, only to find that the next morning after his threats, 
half the negroes had escaped while the bolder ones had 
waited lintil daylight, with the determined vow, ‘‘If 
marse teches one ob us wedl take ebery boss on de 
place an’ lick him besides.” He then saw how power- 
less were his threats, for the negroes knew, as well as 
himself, that they were free. 

Then Mrs. Ashley had said: "Let me try now.” 

^4 


370 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


And soon she was going from cabin to cabin with fair 
promises made in her patient persuasive tones, which 
wrung sobs and tears from them as they declared: 

“Wes’ guine ter stay right heah wid you, missus, 
jest as long as eber you lives, but marse hab got to 
put dem linkers away an’ neber bring ’em back wid 
’em freats; an’ he’s got to ’spose of dem dah hounds 
or we’ll ’spose of dem fur him.” But she had won 
them, and so they hired the negroes to stay. 

She scarcely ever clashed with her husband, but when 
Calhoun, their only child, had pleaded for permission 
to bring the sick Union boy to his own home, he had 
met with a decided “No; no Yank on my place!” from 
his father; and Mrs. Ashley’s persuasive tones and 
pleading words had failed to change the decision. 
Later Mrs. Ashley had taken some knickknacks, and 
gone with Calhoun to see Harry. When she came 
back she was firmly determined to bring the boy out 
and told her husband so. 

That was on the day before the breakfast-table talk, 
Mr. Ashley made an indignant remonstrance, then fell 
into a sullen mood and scarcely noticed either Mrs 
Ashley or Calhoun during the evening. But Mrs. Ash- 
ley wouldn't drop the subject, and finally exacted the 
reluctant permission,, though he thought they would 
not do it. 

w 

Mrs. Ashley felt she was right, and never wavered 
for a moment; so as soon as Cal started for Anderson- 
ville, she began arranging for the comfort of the boy 
who had saved her son’s life at the risk of his own. 
The house was both elegant and commodious, with 
parlors above and below, richly furnished. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


371 


^‘I think we’ll fix the north parlor bedroom, upstairs, 
for him, girls,” said Mrs. Ashley. ’’He’ll like the 
room on the north; it is warm enough any time and 
cooler in the heat of the day; then I know he will like 
the northern breeze; it will make him think of home, 
and it will make him well sooner.” The two negro 
girls were to receive extra pay from Mrs Ashley’s own 
purse for the work that day, and they threw them- 
selves into it with a vim that made Mrs. Ashley say to 
herself: 

“’Tis better to hire than to drive; why, those girls 
will do twice the work and do it neater, and quicker 
than when it was compulsory!” 

Soon the bed had been aired, robed in white, wheeled 
out into the center of the wide room, which was swept 
and dusted, fresh water put into the pitcher, a clean 
towel on the roller, the curtains partly drawn to make 
a subdued light. Cal’s mother plucked her choicest 
flowers with her own hands, into a rich bouquet and 
placed it upon the marble-top stand by the bed-side, 
with some choice books. “He is only a boy,” she said 
softly, as she added here and there a pretty touch. 
"And perhaps his mother would do the same for Cal. 
At any rate, I will arrange for him as if for the presi- 
dent of the Southern Confederacy himself; for he saved 
Calhoun’s life and that is enough to find the tender 
spot in my heart! Poor boy! he has not slept in a bed 
nor seen the inside of a parlor for a long dreary time. 

The bed was but ready when Cal drove in front of 
the veranda and called for help. 

Mrs. Ashley and the two negro girls came, since all 
the hands were in the field, and helped carry into the 


372 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


great chamber of the Southern house, Harry, who chat- 
tered like a magpie, much to the amusement of the 
negro girls, but to Mrs. Ashley’s deep concern, for the 
case was more serious than she had feared. 

“Now, Cal,” said. she, when Harry laughed as they 
laid him between the clean sheets, saying, “Ah, mother 
you’re a brick!” 'You give his hair a close cut and 
wash him from head to foot. I’ll bring some of your 
clothes for him and that alone will help him, for those 
filthy rags are enough to make any one sick." 

Soon his clothes were changed, his hair cut and he 
looked like a different boy from the one carried from 
the Andersonville prison; still, in the wild eyes and 
emaciated countenance. Mother Osborne would have 
scarcely recognized the bright, happy, healthy Harry 
who made their own home ring in the glad days. 

The change made no difference in Harry, mentally; 
for the excitement and worry had been too much for 
his worn-out body and mind, and in random speeches 
he talked of home, his mother and father; then of 
school, of Floy and Guy; then, at the head of an army 
of soldiers, he would give commands; the next moment 
he would burst out crying and talk of some one cross- 
ing the dead-line, or suffering some other cruelty in the 
prison. 

’Twas indeed a sad sight, and when Samuel Ashley 
came in to dinner, his two dozen hands having gone to 
their quarters, he went upstairs to see Calhoun on busi- 
ness, and saw the pitiable sight of the young, fine face 
pale and wan, that tossed and rolled upon the pil- 
low; he went down with a sad look on his face. He 
was somew'hat changed in his opinion, too, for, be- 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 373 

fore dinner was over, he asked in a very mild tone; 

“Has the doctor seen that sick boy yet?" 

“No, but we’re looking for him every minute now, 
replied Mrs. Ashley, kissing his brow. And he now 
felt that he was repaid, even if some of the neighbors 
did snub him for keeping a sick Yankee at his house. 

“He’s a fine-looking lad. 1 didn’t know they had 
such faces as his up North; I thought they were an 
ignorant-looking set. And I’ll wager my crop of cot- 
ton that his parents were originally from the South; 
for he looks just like a true Southern blood or I’m no 
judge! ” 

After dinner the doctor came, left medicine, and orders 
for all but Calhoun to stay out of the room when the 
patient was awake. 

Mr. Ashley observed the doctor’s directions about 
quiet and strange faces, never going into the sick-room 
when Harry was awake; though always inquiring about 
him whenever coming into the house; and when Harry 
was sleeping he would invariably stand in the door 
and watch, intently, the tossing head. 

“Your father seems to have changed in his opinion 
of the young Union soldier,” remarked the mother. 

"Yes,” replied Cal, “and the more I see and know 
of the Union soldiers, the more I’m inclined to believe 
that they were not so tyrannical as some of our leaders 
would have us believe. The doctor was just telling 
me to-day that the young officer who helped me that 
day was himself a prisoner for eight months in Wash- 
ington, and was never treated better in his life. He 
declared if he had known how the Northern prisoners 
were being treated, or rather mis-treatcd, he would 


374 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


never have taken up arms again in defence of such 
cruelty. I believe father would lose much of his prej- 
udice ’gainst the North if he had seen as much of the 
Northen soldiers as I have. I hate to say so much about 
the war and its effects; of course I wish the Confed- 
erate cause had triumphed; and father takes the loss 
of his slaves so hard. But I thought, on the day when 
father said ‘how like a true Southerner the sick soldier 
looks,’ that if he had seen Sherman’s army he would 
have thought that many of them were true Southern 
bloods and he would have admired them in spite of 
holding opposite opinions, for they looked like a band 
of heroes! And say, mother, did you know I almost 
wanted to join them myself as they marched by wdth 
the Stars and Stripes,' and I thought of the flag which 
had always laid in my trunk since I was twelve years 
old and took it as a a prize for best 4th of July decla- 
mation. The cause of the stars and bars was a worthy 
one, though, but I don’t believe the whole North is 
base and ignorant." 

The twelfth morning after Harry had been brought 
to the planter’s home. Cal awoke from a good night’s 
sleep, having been disturbed only by the alarm clock 
which, at regular intervals, called him to give the sick 
soldier medicine. The sun was shining brightly and 
its beams fell straight across the room through the 
east window; outside he could hear the darkeys talk- 
ing to each other, and to their teams, as they started 
for the cotton fields. Cal had almost forgotten his 
patient, and closed his eyes again, not to sleep, but to 
think over the great changes the few years of conflict 
had wrought. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


375 


‘‘A few years ago,” he thought, ‘‘those men scarcely 
dared to speak; instead of the sounds I now hear, was 
the hoarse, gruff voice of the overseer, ‘Hurry there, 
boys, all hands hurry!’ or threats at one of the darkeys 
if he failed to do his level best. ” 

He was suddenly roused from his reverie by a puz- 
zled: 

‘‘Where am I?” There sat the sick soldier looking 
about him for a moment, then laying down exhausted, 
while Cal yet looked at him. 

"Hello, there! You’re coming around all right; I 
knew you’d pull through, but you’ve been mighty 
sick,” said Cal. "You know me, dont you?” 

"I thought at first it was Guy, but it’s the Confed 
erate soldier — yes I know, but — " 

"You must not talk; ‘twould give you a set-back, 
you know, ” said Cal. And he explained to him where 
he was, how he came there and when. But he had 
hard work to make Harry believe that he had not seen 
Gen. T — , and been all along in his own bed at home. 

"Yes, now I remember that some one told me,” said 
Harry, "that the war was over and that I was not a 
prisoner any longer; but the next minute I saw old 
Wirz again with his gun raised to shoot some poor fel- 
low who thought he saw some way to escape, or who 
deliberately walked over that dead-line that his spirit, 
at least, might be free. Then I think I had a dream, 
and oh! I can never describe my feelings as I saw my 
mother, whom I thought brought me some nice things 
for dinner, but finally walked off and left me still in 
prison.” 

Here a sigh from the door-way attracted the two 


37G 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


pairs of eyes, Mrs. Ashley had been standing in the 
half-open door full two minutes, unperceived, but her 
great pity for the boy so far from the mother he dreamed 
of, and her joy at seeing his improved condition, quite 
overcame her self-control, and she gave vent to her 
feelings in a burst of sobs. 

“He’s much better, isn’t he?” said Mrs. Ashley, as 
she and Cal went downstairs to get some breakfast for 
him. 

“Yes; very much better. He is getting along in fine 
shape now; if we can only keep him from getting too 
anxious to go home; but he is wildly excited at the 
thought of going home and I’m afraid he will worry 
too much.” 

“Did he tell* you where his home is?" asked Mrs. 
Ashley. 

“Yes; he lives in Iowa, but he don’t want us to write 
to his friends until he is ready to start. And, say, he 
has no sister ‘Floy’ as we supposed; but I think his 
eyes sparkled brighter as I asked him about ‘Floy.’” 

Breakfast was taken up, and Mrs. Ashley watched 
Harry eat it, with as much pride as if he had been her 
own boy. 

“You’ll soon be able to be up and around,” said Mrs. 
Ashley, “if you will keep quiet until strength comes.” 

"Yes, I think I shall be able to start for Iowa in a 
few days and I’m very anxious; for, from what your 
son tells me, the other boys have been home now for 
two or three weeks. I know my mother must be wild 
with fright, for they never knew what become of me, I 
suppose. I saw one of my old school-mates the morn- 
ing I was taken to prison, but they would not allow me 


DEBTOR ARID CREDITOR 


377 


to speak to him, and he was exchanged* that very day; 
he did’nt recognize me, I know, so couldn’t take the 
word back home.” And Harry’s eyes lit up at the very 
thoughts, but he continued, in spite of Mrs. Ashley’s 
admonitions : 

“How can I ever repay you for your kindness and 
splendid care is what is troubling me now.” 

” There, not another word of that, for I value my son’s 
life above all the trouble or money in the world. We 
are debtors to you, and will always be; for nothing 
could balance the prize you saved us, and saved at 
such a cost to yourself too; your doctor-bill is already 
paid, and as soon as you are able to travel, you shall 
have money to go home with; but don't mention pay 
or debt again. Don’t be in too much of a hurry to 
go home; you will not be able to travel for many days 
yet. I think you had better allow us to write to your 
friends and that will relieve their anxiety. ” And Mrs. 
Ashley looked all she said. 

Harry’s heart was too full of joy and gratitude to 
allow his mouth to open for a time, “for,” he said 
afterward, "if I had parted my lips, I think I should 
have sobbed like a child; I had to be very careful to 
choke back the big sobs that came into my throat.” 

“No, I must go as soon as possible; think. I’ve been 
away over four years! But I would rather they should 
not know I’m coming until I’m ready to start. We 
will write one day and I’ll start the next so the letter 
will get in just one day ahead.” 

For five days they triea to keep Harry in bed and 
convince him he was sick; but it was like convincing 
a hungry man that he does not want to eat but to lie 
in bed. 


378 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“Well’’ said Harry one Saturday morning, “I want 
to start for Iowa, Monday, so if you will just mail a 
letter for me to day it will have two days the start of 
me. ’’ 

Calhoun mailed the letter, but he and his mother put 
in that afternoon and most of Sunday in trying to per- 
suade him not to start; but Harry could wait no longer, 
and Monday noon he bade good-bye to his Southern 
friends and stepped on board the coach which was 
bound direct for St. Louis. 

He waved his hand to Calhoun and his mother as 
the train began to move faster and faster; they sig- 
naled to him in return and watched the train until the 
smoke of the engine had faded away into the blue sky, 
and the dull rumble sounded far off in the distance, 
not unlike other sounds that had been heard so recently 
in the South, which had been re-echoed in the sound 
of moans for the loved boys who would never board a 
homeward-board train. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


A GALA DAY AT MAPLETON 

Mapleton was indeed a happy place. Mike McGuire 
declared that "their roosters crowed oftener, the tur- 
keys strutted bigger and gobbled louder since pa had 
come home. ’’ Mike had used a homely illustration, 
■but expressed a truth worth knowing, that happiness 
lies not in the things about us but in us. Pat and 
his six "leetle fellers” actually thought the fowls looked 
prettier and trilled gladder notes in their song, than 
was their custom. Just as Miller Wells declared that 
the old mill had a merrier sound since Clarke was its 
engineer again; and Clarke himself loved to listen to 
its busy buzz and whirr, with a satisfied smile, thinking 
of the new firm-name painted on the outside — "Wells 
& Son.” 

Mrs. Edwards thought that the "world was going 
better;” and Hannah Edmonds declared that Jack 
thought twice as much of her since he was married 
than he ever did before, and that Marne was the "nicest 
gal in that ere town and smartest too.” It was indeed 
an era of good feeling; the birds sang sweeter the 
band discoursed better music, since happy hearts fitted 
the words; the very rustle of the leaves which had 
seemed a discordant murmur of dread tidings, now 
seemed a sweet lullaby. 

But for Mr. and Mrs. Osborne life had lost its charm, 
379 


380 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


and though they tried to conceal their grief, it was el- 
oquently told in their sorrow-stricken faces. 

The smile that used to play around the doctor’s 
mouth had disappeared, and a wrinkle remained to 
show where it had been; the sharp twinkle in his eye 
had been washed away by tears. His joking had 
stopped suddenly, and the hearty laugh that once shook 
his huge form was more subdued and scarcely ever 
heard. His home and his patients consumed his whole 
time and attention, with visits to Grace, Will and the 
babies, as his sole enjoyment. 

Mrs. Osborne’s face had taken on a look of patient 
resignation which half-revealed, half-concealed the 
track of suffering, while ’twas crowned with silvery 
hair. 

There was another who felt as deeply the wound of 
that war as any; and though seemingly happy at times, 
she had the same old restless longing as before the 
boys came home. Floy enjoyed Will, but he only 
filled his own place. Her father had never seemed so 
dear to her until they began to roll the clods down on 
the coffin lid; and she thought she cared no more for 
Harry Osborne than auy other school-mate, until that 
dreadful letter brought the tidings, “Harry was missing 
at roll;" ana when the boys came off the train with 
their bright uniform and still brighter smiles, she had 
felt more keenly than ever the absence of that one who 
had asked her to say “she was sorry" he was going to 
the war. 

“Oh, if I could but see him now, I would tell 
him that I was sorry then, and have been for four 
years!" she said to herself for the hundreth time, as 


DEBTOR ^ND CREDITOR 


381 


she walked slowly down the road to the postoffice. 

"Why do 1 still go down to the office every day? He 
will never come! No; never! But it is putting in the 
time; I can’t read, and must do something.” The 
train was not in yet, but she sauntered on, looking 
ever and anon to see if the smoke was rising above the 
clump of trees far up the bend. 

The cars have come and gone; the mail is being 
distributed when suddenly the delivery door is opened 
with . 

"Doctor Osborne! Doctor Osborne! Here’s a letter 
from Andersonville, Georgia!” 

The doctor was not there; but, without thinking, 
Floy snatched it from him and was on the verge of 
opening it; but stopped, gave one hasty excited look 
about her and darted out of the office, while the crowd 
peered anxiously after her. The old postmaster, who 
had held the office for years and had never been accused 
of meddling with any one’s mail, but had earned and 
bore the name of "Old Business,” was now quite 
anxious to know what a letter addressed to Doctor and 
Mrs. Osborn post-marked "Andersonville, Georgia” 
contained; he stopped his work of distribution — a 
thing never done in his life before — and stood at the 
delivery window to discuss the possibility of Harry 
being still alive and that letter being from him. 

"It is hardly probable, yet possible, that Harry is 
still living,” said Capt. Edwards. "If it was anybody 
but Harry, I would say there was not the shadow of a 
chance, but he’s had so many narrow escapes! he 
seemed to have a charmed life. If he should have 
been taken prisoner he would have slipped out, or 


382 


IVHAT IT COST' OR 


got on the good side of some of the guards, and been 
heard from before this; but one can’t tell — that letter 
holds the secret, evidently. There was not a private 
or officer in our regiment that had so many warm 
friends as Harry Osborne! ” 

‘That’s all very nice to put in words, about his 
getting on the good side of some of the guards at 
Andersonville; but the human being who ever saw the 
good side of old Wirz or any of his helpers has a 
keener eye for good than I have, and I spent a whole 
year there,” said Clarke Wells, looking sadly into 
space as if he could see the horrors of Andersonville 
pictured on the very air. 

Floy forgot she was no longer a little girl, but a dig- 
nified graduate of the high school, and ran every step 
of the way to the Osborne home. 

“Oh, Mrs. Osborne, Mrs. Osborne!" she cried, rush 
ing into the sitting-room where Mrs. Osborne sat dress- 
ing a doll for Gwen; "Here, open this letter quick; I 
know it’s from Harry!” Mrs. Osborne clutched the 
letter Floy pushed into her uplifted hand, but didn’t 
open it. The shock had been too ^much for Mrs. Os- 
borne’s tried nerves, and she sank upon the floor with, 
"Oh, God; can it be possible?” and fainted. 

"Why didn’t I have some thought about me?” cried 
Floy, more excited than ever, chafing the cold hands. 

"I have killed her! oh why didn’t I think?” Then 
she remembered having seen the doctor drive to the 
barn as she came down, and ran to call him. 

Joy seldom kills, and Mrs. Osborne soon opened 
her eyes to ask, "Is it true? Harry!” Doctor Osborne 
had already torn open the letter as he spoke. 


DEBTOR AhID CREDITORS 


383 


"From Harry, yes — oh thank God!" and while Floy 
and Mrs. Osborne listened breathlessly, he read the 
message from Harry himself. 

"I will be home on Thursday," the doctor read after 
telling where he was and how he came there. 

"Thursday!" repeated Floy — "To-morrow! Oh — " and 
again she darted away as quickly as she had from the 
postoffice. She didn’t run this time though; but 
tried with all her might to curb her excitement, 
as she walked briskly toward the cottage. With burn- 
ing cheeks, and flashing eyes she repeated "To-morrow, 
to-morrow!" 

Then she thought of the scene under the elms when 
Harry wanted her to say she was sorry; saw him again 
as he bravely marched away in the company; pictured 
in part the many scenes through which he had passed 
since then; and now he was coming back home! 

"Oh, I’ll tell him I’m glad he came back, even if I 
wouldn’t say I was sorry when he went away. But 
how changed he will be," she said; "still he’s just a 
boy yet for he was but fifteen then." 

Then she hummed a bit of a song, as she examined 
the medal again, whispering, "wear it till I come." 
and trying to discern which one of the tiny figures 
among the trees was Harry. Bui she dropped the 
beautiful treasure in its place again when she saw Guy 
coming down. 

"Guy, Harry is coming to-morrow! " she called, try- 
ing to speak unconcernedly, but her voice had a glad 
ring in it. Guy stooti spell-bound. 

"What! Harry — Harry Osborne?" he almost gasped. 
"Alive? coming home to-morrow? you’re joking. 


384 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Floy!” and Guy stepped across to Floy, who still went 
slowly down the grass-embroidered side-walk. 

"Wait," he said, in an impatient tone, "How do you 
know he’s coming, are you sure?” 

"Yes, his mother just received a letter from him, 
written at a planter’s house near Andersonville, last 
Saturday. He said he had been sick but would start 
Monday and would get here Thursday, that’s to-mor- 
row. ” 

Guy stood a full minute gazing intently at the side- 
walk, then raised his eyes to Floy’s with a look which 
puzzled her, but not so much as his words, "May be 
he won’t come though, yet.” 

His face turned pale and Floy noticed that his lips 
quivered painfully. 

"Why, Guy Harrington!” she said in quick surprise, 
"You spoke as if you did not want him to come 
home! I thought you would be jubilant oyer this 
news!” 

Again he was silent for several embarrassing sec- 
onds, then said: 

"I’m glad Harry is living; but I am not glad — how 
could I be? — that he’s coming back here!” 

"Why, Guy, what makes you talk and act like this ! ” 
and Floy looked both puzzled and grieved. "I 
thought everybody in Mapleton would rejoice at the 
good news, and especially you, for you were always 
Harry’s best friend;” and Floy’s cheeks burned scarlet. 

"Floy, you know why I don’t want Harry to come 
back here, and you know, too, that if he does come, it 
will make me miserable forever!” Guy was calmer now, 
but still as white as Floy’s apron, and he gave Floy 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


385 


such a strange look, half-piteous, half-fierce — that her 
own big gray eyes drooped under it. 

“Guy Harrington,’’ she said, “you’re not the man I 
thought you were! What do you mean? I am bewil- 
dered — shocked at such talk about the coming of an 
old school-chum from Andersonville!” and Floy turned 
coolly away. 

“Well,” said Guy, “would you be shocked if I 
should tell you in plain words, what I have been tell- 
ing you for years in every action toward you — that I 
love you! — will always love you? Harry Osborne 
will do just as Jack Riley and John Edwards have 
done, be married in two weeks after he gets home, and 
you will be his wife!’’ Guy’s bitter tone was pitiable, 
but Floy felt too keenly the injustice he was doing 
Harry to think of pity now. 

“Guy, you forget yourself,” she said haughtily, “you 
speak at random. How do you know that Harry Os- 
borne cares for me more than for any other school- 
mate? You are quite prophetic. Would you be traitor 
enough to take advantage of his absence if he did? es- 
pecially when he is absent on such a mission as his 
has been?" 

“To the first question I answer, I know it by the let- 
ters he has written to you, which you yourself have shown 
me; I know it by that medal you have worn so con- 
stantly for two years and a half!” Guy spoke defiant- 
ly, “To the second, yes; I would win you at any cost, 
with the sacrifice of anything or anybody. Don’t you 
know the old saying, ‘All is fair in love and war?’ 
You yourself praise the men who have been using all 
manner of strategem in the war lately.” 


25 


386 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


"It seems that you have been trying the love part of 
the adage, if your pretended friendship toward Harry 
and brotherly conduct toward me, has aimed at some- 
thing else than true friendship! ’’ and Floy hurried on 
toward Elm Cottage; for already the streets down town 
were being dotted with groups of men, and she knew if 
she did not mak^ haste Will and Grace would be the 
last of anyone in town to hear the good news. 

Guy went on and joined a group who were talking 
it over. His face still showed the emotion he felt, 
but no one guessed the feelings which prompted it; for 
if any one noticed a difference in him they attributed 
it to his excitement over the news from his old chum. 

Floy started at a brisk gait, but gradually slackened 
her pace while her thoughts ran forward, backward, 
and sifted the facts she’d been learning. 

"Why must I always have some trouble?” she 
thought. "Here I was so glad about Harry, and am 
still, but why couldn’t Guy keep his place, and be glad, 
too? I always liked Guy — he’s been a splendid friend. 
But I never dreamed of his caring for me differently 
than for the other girls. But now I do remember lots 
of actions and words which were not for a sister, or 
girl-chum. I guess he has shown me more favors than 
to any other girl in town during the last three years. 
But he didn’t need to, I didn’t intend he should and 
did not encourage any sentiment. I may have given 
him some encouragement seemingly, but I never meant 
it that way! Oh, dear! I’ve had so much to worry me 
all the time! Why couldn’t he have said something 
before this, that I might have seen what he meant and 
treated him differently. I could never love Guy that 


DEBTOR y4ND CREDTIOR 


387 


way; could have never been more to him than I am, 
even if Harry — ” a deep blush o’erspread her face 
at the remembrance of Guy’s words, “Harry will do 
as Jack Riley and John Edwards have done, be mar- 
ried in two weeks!” “I hate to see Guy in trouble, but 
it isn’t just the thing for him to say this now! ” Elm 
Cottage gate was swung open now, and she bounded 
up the walk and into the house, shouting: 

“Good news! good news! guess, guess!” Aunt Polly 
dropped her bunch of garden-seeds, drew her specta- 
cles down on her nose and peered over them straight 
into Floy’s bright face. 

Grace’s face changed color half a dozen times in 
that many seconds, but what she was thinking of was 
too good, she would not guess anything else, and was 
afraid to guess that. Will instinctively laid Grant in 
his cradle that he might have one arm to wave if his 
guess be true. Then coming very close up to Grace 
he said: 

“I guess that Harry is coming home! " 

“Right, right! To-morrow, to-morrow!” exclaimed 
Floy, more excited if possible than when she herself, 
had first heard the news. Will did not wave his hand 
as he expected he should do, but clasped Grace in- 
stead, who laughed and cried together. ’Twas a mer- 
ry time at Elm Cottage, the babies - were each kissed 
half a dozen times by everyone. Aunt Polly laughed 
till she cried, and almost forgot that Harry was not 
her son. 

In a few minutes. Will and .Grace were on their 
way down to “father Osborne’s” where they found Capt. 
Edwards, Judge Burton and a number of other promi- 


388 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


nent citizens, congratulating the Osborne parents and 
planning for the welcome, that John declared “should 
be the grandest day that Mapleton ever knew.’ 

The rest of the evening and most of the night was 
spent in preparing for the morrow. Several boys were 
sent out in different directions to rally the soldiers in 
the surrounding country. Guy was one of those who 
volunteered to go, and just as the moon came up, away 
he went, easing his conscience a little; for Floy’s 
words of “traitor to your friend” had cut; and he went 
about reminding the country-folks of the story of Paul 
Revere; but ’twas a gladder message he brought. 

Next morning, the streets began to fill with an en- 
thusiastic crowd of men and boys, among whom were 
many in blue uniforms. All the forenoon, the number 
swelled, as the soldiers came to welcome their old 
friend and comrade, and the country-folks from as far 
as the news was spread, came in to see the soldiers 
march and hear the band play its stirring national airs. 

The folks from Elm Cottage came down early to the 
Osborne house, where the soldiers were to form in 
line and march to the depot. Promptly at two p. m. 
all were ready; Col. Morris modestly declining to com- 
mand, Capt. Edwards, as of old, went at the head of 
Co. F. 

At the Osborne place, Guy found opportunity to 
speak with Floy. He told her he was sorry he had 
talked to her as he had on the day before ; that he should 
have guarded his secret and not blamed Harry. But 
he added, “I love you,. Floy; I will alv/ays love you as 
Floy Morris; but after you are married I will try to 
only respect you as Mrs. Harry Osborne." 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


389 


**I wish you would not talk so, Guy,” said Floy, col- 
oring highly. “It strikes me you are rather premature 
in bestowing that high-sounding title upon any one.” 

“It will come,” he said sadly, but added determined- 
ly: “It was selfishness which prompted me to say 
what I did yesterday; true love tells me that if 
Harry is preferred you would be happier with him. 
I’m glad Harry is coming, I will welcome him hearti- 
ly. But, Floy, will you keep my secret and will you 
still hold me as a friend?” 

“Yes, to both questions, and now I must go; for I 
see they are all ready to march, and I am to go with 
the home-folks.” 

’Twas a beautiful June day, and Floy quite rivaled 
it in brightness in her graduating-dress with forget- 
me-nots for flowers; her gold pin, her father’s present, 
and the necklace and medal, her ornaments. Guy 
watched the graceful figure make its way to the home- 
group and sighed, with Whittier’s judge, only he said, 
“I wish it might have been! " 

“Shoulder arms! March!” was the sharp command 
of Capt. Edwards. 

Silence fell among the spectators, and only the 
steady “tramp, tramp, tramp!” of the perfectly drilled 
soldiers was heard for some seconds, then, at the keen 
whistle of a fife, the band began to play, and a rousing 
cheer went up from the spectators, not unlike the one 
the soldiers themselves had given at the surrender of 
Fort McAllister where Harry was first missing. 

This might have appropriately been called “flag 
day” if the number would have suggested the name; 
for, from every house they flapped, and everyone car- 


390 


IVH/iT IT COST; OR 


tied one, from Pat McGuire, Jr., who bore a strawberry- 
stained flag of miniature size, to Col. Will Morris, 
who marched in front with the old tattered flag which 
Mother Osborne had never allowed from Harry’s pic- 
ture before. 

Half an hour before the train was due, the proces- 
sion reached the depot, and from the highest points 
of stables near by, from piles of ties, and even 
from half-way up the nearest telegraph poles, were 
boys from six to sixteen watching for the first glimpse 
of the engine, as it should come from behind the 
clump of trees, that Aunt Polly vowed she’d cut out 
if she was a man. 

Finally, after they had waited for — “a half day” 
Aunt Polly said, though in fact the train was a few 
minutes ahead of time, the smoke suddenly shot up, 
the signal that the ‘iron horse” would soon dash in- 
to their midst. 

All eyes were instinctively turned toward Doctor and 
Mrs. Osborne. Mother Osborne stood by Grace perfectly 
calm, though expectant; for the thought of some possi- 
ble accident detaining Harry had never entered her 
mind. Doctor Osborne seemed quite self-possessed 
until the smoke told him that it was but a minute or 
two now; then the color left his face, and he hastened 
round among the friends charging them not to get ex- 
cited, while he, himself, usually so calm and steady- 
nerved, trembled from head to foot. 

“Rape cool, docthor! Rape cool, docthor,” shouted 
Pat, “or ye’ll skeer the enjun off its beat, sure!” 

The train nears the station, and on the platform of 
the car stands the conductor with a here-I-am- 


bEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


S9l 

and-what-do-you-want-of-me expression on his face. 

The band struck up “Hail to the Chief;” and the 
mischievous conductor took off his cap, smiled, as only 
fat railroad men can with any degree of perfection, 
bowed low, and bawled out in his “All-aboard" voice, 
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen!” 

Some caught the joke and laughed; but soon looked 
away, for the words were scarce finished when out 
bounded Harry Osborne and started for the little group 
with: 

“Mother, mother!” 

The next instant his father and mother had both 
clasped him in their arms. The band forgot that its 
business was to play, and stood gazing. The passen- 
gers and railroad men looked from every door and 
window. And Aunt Polly, blessed, patriotic, old Aunt 
Polly, “capped the climax” by grabbing the tattered 
old flag that Harry had defended so bravely, and shak- 
ing it over the heads of the parents and son as they 
wept together, shouting: 

“Long may it wave, o’er the son that is free and 
the heads of the brave!” 

This was the signal for a universal cheer, and it 
seemed as if each man and boy there was vieing-with 
every other for the championship of the world on loud 
hallooing. The ladies did not cheer in words, but they 
did with kerchiefs, which they waved above their heads 
half the time and with which they wiped away the 
tears the other half. 

Doctor and Mrs. Osborne to-day can scarcely be rec- 
ognized as the heart-broken couple, who, three weeks 
ago, came down to help welcome home the returning 


392 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


heroes, came, trying to smile, though their tears would 
come. To-day none are happier than they, though they 
get back only one of the two sons who went at their 
country’s call. 

After his parents had released him, Grace came 
next, and it was even a more affecting meeting. Harry 
sobbed like a child now, for he thought of Clay, now 
sleeping many hundred miles away in the same long 
grave with many of his comrades, and how they two 
had been children together and played memly around 
their parents’ knee. 

Floy could not explain or understand her feelings as 
she stood aloof and gazed at him. 

- “Why, is it Harry?” she questioned herself. “He 
was but a boy when he went away, four years ago, and 
now he is a man! How pale and wan he is, poor 
Harry!” 

But she could not make it seem real that the 
healthy, square-built, rosy boy, of four years ago, was 
the tall, pale, bony-faced man. Then she recalled 
Guy’s prophecy and her cheeks burned crimson. 

Now the band is in position again. Captain Edwards 
gives command, the soldiers wheel into line. At the 
signal every third man fires; then every second, and 
just as the echo of it dies away every first fires the 
last of the three salutes. “March!” “Stack arms! " is 
ordered 

The soldiers march in two and two, branching to the 
right and left, as they had so recently seen Joe E. 
Johnston’s army do. Then they file past Harry, 
each one of them shaking hands with him heartily, 
the band playing “Home, Sweet Home.” When the 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


393 


soldiers had passed, the crowd came surging, each 
anxious to express in some way his joy at his coming. 
The hand-shaking which threatened to wring Harry’s 
right arm off was, fortunately, ended by Judge Burton 
mounting a platform temporarily constructed, and in 
a few well-chosen words welcoming the “pride of 
the 7th Iowa” back as a citizen. 

The cries of “Harry! ” “Harry!” “Harry!” from every 
part of the assembly were too strong to be resisted; 
and almost borne by two soldiers, he ascended the 
platform. 

For several seconds, the cheering was deafening, 
then Harry in his glad, though much-excited way, re- 
sponded to the Judge’s welcome and thanked the peo- 
ple for their warm reception, ending with: 

“You have no reason to call me ‘The pride of the 
7th Iowa, ’ though I think, perhaps, you might call 
me the Bonaparte of the regiment!” 

Then they escorted him to the doctor’s buggy await- 
ing him, and putting him in front of the procession, 
marched to the tune of “Marching through Georgia” 
to the dear old home. 

And now the boys had all returned who ever would 
return. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


HARRY AND FLOY 

“Now, Mrs. Osborne, you just stay right in the par- 
lor and enjoy Harry. Grace will help me if I need 
any assistance; but I know your pantry and cellar too 
well to need any,” said Floy, as she followed Mrs. 
Osborne to the kitchen, half an hour after Plarry had 
reached home. 

“No, Floy, you couldn’t find half the things; we 
tried to get everything ready last night and this morn- 
ing, but we were too much excited to put things away 
orderly. You run back and visit, Floy; we’ll have 
him quite to ourselves this evening. ’’ 

But neither could persuade the other to leave the 
kitchen, so both went flying about preparing for Har- 
ry his first supper at home. 

The crowd, had dispersed at Doctor Osborne’s gate, 
after they had seen Harry enter his childhood’s home 
amid cheers, smiles and tears from the lookers-on. 
But they didn’t see the look in the large blue eyes as 
they fell on the familiar objects, nor the tears that fell 
unchecked from them at sight of Clay’s picture in the 
parlor; but his glad whisper “Home!" had a thrilling 
ring in it and he joyfully threw himself upon the fa- 
miliar couch his father wheeled out for him, while he 
laughed and chatted as if trying to make up for some 
of the silent dreary hours just over. 

394 


DEBTOR Am CREDITOR 


395 


The scattering people all carried with them the pict- 
ure of that meeting; of Harry’s pale, haggard face and 
shining eyes. And everywhere he was the subject of 
conversation; not a few predicting that in the near fu- 
ture Col. Morris would be his double brother-in-law. 

“Wouldn’t it be a shame if that girl would go back 
on him for Guy Harrington!’’ said Capt. Edwards to 
his wife, as they walked arm in arm down to the old 
home Lois had left so lately. 

“No danger. Not a bit of danger,” said Lois, “she 
almost worships Harry, and I noticed that his eyes 
never stopped until they rested on her at the depot.” 

“Of course, he never thinks of anybody but Floy. 
But you can’t tell about girls,” and John quite ignored 
the “Ahem! ” Lois gave. “She and Guy had a long 
talk yesterday, and to-day just before starting for the 
depot. Floy acted strangely shy for her; why, I 
thought she treated Harry coldly. Every other one of 
his old school-friends talked longer to him and shook 
hands with more vim than Floy,” and John actually 
looked hurt o’er this seeming slight of his old com- 
rade. 

“She probably felt a little timid in this public meet- 
ing, knowing everybody was watching her. I know 
I was scared nearly to death when you came home,” 
laughed Lois; “just wait until they are alone and 
she’ll surrender at once, as I did, and be married in 
two weeks. ” And Lois looked so mischievously at 
John that he declared he had a notion to kiss her, even 
if the streets were lined with pedestrians. 

“Well, I hope she will, if Harry wants to settle 
down — I rather pity him, though; he’s so young to 


396 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


become a martyr to a woman’s ‘sweet will.’ But he 
faced the rebs right along with the rest of us, and 
may be he can stand it," said John. Then he added 
seriously: "But, Lois, I don’t like the way she treated 
Harry, and I don’t like the way she talks to Guy.” 

“What if she did prefer Guy to Harry? There isn’t 
a better young man in the country, except you — he’s 
intellectual too, will become quite learned, and I think 
he would make Floy quite a good, suitable husband.” 
And Lois, with a merry twinkle in her eye which John 
did not fail to see, looked across to the high school 
building. 

"Oh, you think you’ll tease me a little over the 
professor, do you? You can’t do that now, for I’ve 
got the papers for you now, and if I didn’t have them, 
you’d want me to get them, at once. ’ 

"Of course I would, and you’d do it too;” and Lois 
slipped her hand down his arm and gave his hand such 
a loving little squeeze that John thought he was the 
happiest man in the world. 

But he was neither happier nor prouder than Jack 
Riley, who, at that moment was driving up the road in 
the wagon behind his span of bays, with merry little 
Marne on one side, looking first at Jack and then at 
some passer-by, at whom she would bow and smile a 
"didn’t-I-get-the-finest-man-in-the-world” smile, while 
on the other side sat Hannah, with her nose about two 
degrees higher than when she drove old Dobbins, and 
one higher than anv ordinary person, in moderate cir- 
cumstances. 

"Supper is now ready in camp,” said Mother Os- 
borne at the kitchen door. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


397 


Will and Harry laughed at the idea of any one an- 
nouncing supper in the army where every one was his 
own cook and dish-washer. Grace, who had never 
been known to allow her mother to get the supper be- 
fore when she was about, took Grant from Will, while 
Harry led Gwen to supper. 

Floy sat down, by chance, opposite to Harry; but 
she was not a particle hungry and could have kissed 
dear baby Grant for fretting and thus giving her an 
excuse to leave. The blue eyes opposite her would 
bring the color to her cheek, in some unaccountable 
manner, so she took Grant and slipped off into the 
sitting-room. 

She gave Grant a toy over which he crowed quite 
merrily while she restlessly wandered about the room, 
now poring o’er a book, now examining the tattered 
flag closely, as she had often done before; finally, she 
took off the gold medal and gave it a long, scrutiniz- 
ing look. 

"He has come now. I was only to w^ar it until he 
came! I wonder how Pd better give it back to him; 
of course he’ll want it to wear for a watch-charm, and 
’twill be a splendid one for it means so much! ” she 
thought, as she turned it fondly over, again and again. 
"I don’t want him to have to ask me for it." And she 
laid it on the table, quickly turning away as she re- 
membered Guy’s "nonsense.” 

All the while she had lent half her attention to the 
table-talk, and now she went to the door to listen to 
Harry’s story about the Ashleys. The subject had 
been suggested by Harry taking from his lunch basket 
the remnant of a delicious cake which Mrs. Ashley 
had ’baked for his journey. 


398 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


After supper the Morrises soon took leave for the 
night — all except Gwen, whom Harry would persist in 
keeping with him his first evening at home. 

“Floy,” exclaimed Will, as she tripped on in front 
of the rest with U. S. Grant in her arms, “WhaFsthe 
matter with you? Last night you were jubilant as any 
one in town over Harry’s coming, and now that he has 
come you treat him decidedly cool. You surely are 
not trying to put on airs — trying to play ‘grown up 
folks’ with Harry. You’re lots nicer when you act 
perfectly natural.” 

“Now, you know I wasn’t putting on airs! I thought 
I was quite sociable; why, I helped to get his first 
supper!” and Floy colored, but in the dark they did 
not notice it. 

“Now, see here, puss, you know you treated Harry 
shabbily; and I know that all the girls and boys at 
the station noticed it, especially Guy. He smiled 
when you only gave Harry one hand, when man}^ of 
the girls gave him two, and acted glad to see him.” 

Neither Aunt Polly nor Grace made any comments; 
but Floy knew by Grace’s face that she, too, felt that 
Harry’s welcome was scarcely complete. 

The others did the complaining, but Floy felt more 
than any one that a barrier had sprung up between 
herself and the young soldier. 

“Pshaw!” she said, when once alone, thinking it 
over; “I am so glad to get him home again, I had 
intended treating him so well, giving him such a wel- 
come that he would know I had missed him all the 
time! But somehow every one had their eyes on me, 
and. 1 knew if I only treated him as the others did that 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


399 


they would talk and talk, just as they did over John 
and Lois. But there’s no use to worry and make wrink- 
les over it. He got a hearty reception and I dare 
say didn’t notice I was a little stiff. Anyhow we'll 
be together before three days and 'twill come out all 
right, I know.” 

In the meanwhile, Harry was resting on his mother’s 
bed which he declared was softer, if possible, than Mrs. 
Ashley's, asking questions and watching Gwen play- 
ing. “Why, Harry, here is your medal, or Floy's — 
did you give it to her?” his mother asked, looking at 
him closely. 

Harry was evidently puzzled over its being there; 
for he took the medal and gazed steadily at it a long 
time, while Gwen called continually, “Dat myFoy’s!" 
“Dat my Foy’s! ” 

“Where did you get it, mother?” he asked presently. 

“Lying on the table, back where little hands could 
not reach it.” 

Harry was much surprised. Of course Floy had 
left it purposely, then; for he had noticed that she 
wore it at the depot and later at the supper-table. 

“Well! I thought I understood Floy like a book. 
But the little girl is a mystery — I like mysteries 
like her, though!” he thought, gazing hard at the 
wall; “What could she meanf Oh, I guess I see ! I told 
her in the letter 1 sent with the medal, to wear it until 
I came. Now she has done so, and has left it off at 
my coming to tease me, the little mischief. Hasn't 
she changed though? I never saw such a fine face — a 
beauty, too. Well, you shall wear it again, Floy. 
She treated me strangely; I noticed she watched me 


400 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


a great deal, but she was so shy about it that I scarce- 
ly got to see her full in the eyes all the time. I won- 
der if she is as. greatly surprised at the change in my 
appearance as I in hers? When I went away she was 
a sweet, rosy-cheeked girl of thirteen, now she is a 
graceful, dignified young lady. Her cheeks have faded 
some, but I noticed that, at times, the roses came 
back as of yore. And her eyes, big and gray as ever, 
have a sadder expression; why, they actually sparkled 
when she had solved some difficult problem in arith- 
metic or was getting off something witty! I do not 
wonder though, that she has grown pale and that her 
eyes have lost part of their luster, when I remember 
what she has passed through in these four bitter years; 
but the brilliancy will return when — ” 

He paused at the “when,” then settled into a deeper 
study, quite unheeding Gwen who had put on Harry’s 
cap, taken her grandpa’s cane and with long steps, 
was walking up and down the room, sa3dng, “Me do 
to meet my danpa’s boy! Me do to meet my danpa’s 
boy!” 

The doctor and Mrs. Osborne smiled at her, and 
silently wondered what Harry was thinking. Finally, 
Mrs, Osborne repeated the question Harry had net 
heard : 

“Did you give the medal to Floy, Harry, or just 
send it to her for a while?” 

“Well, I can hardly tell whether I meant for her to 
keep it or not,” said Harry, a little confused, “I guess 
I gave it to her just as I gave the flag to you — to keep, 
but not to claim.” 

“O yes, I understand now,” said Mrs. Osborne, 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


401 


with the nearest to a twinkle in her eyes, she had had 
for four years. "If you get her, she may keep the 
medal, but if not, you will keep it." 

"Why, mother," said Harry, laughing but coloring, 
"I thought there was no doubt about that; I supposed 
you folks would have that all arranged." 

The doctor shook his sides, as in the old days, at 
the jocular turn his wife was now taking. 

"We thought we had, but somehow you two donH 
seem very enthusiastic over the plan, since you have 
seen one another. Floy was the wildest girl I ever 
saw until she met you; but she changed the moment 
she set her eyes on you!" laughed Mrs. Osborne. 
"But you just wait until you have frequented my pan- 
try a few days and slept on my good beds, and those 
sunken cheeks will fill out, get more color, and she’ll 
change her mind again." Mrs. Osborne had begun 
to think more seriously of the matter, from a look in 
Harry’s face, and she added, after kissing him and 
stroking his white forehead, "A mother’s love is the 
surest and best; I love you, even with the starvation- 
mark of that wretched butcher-shop pictured on your 
face! " 

"Pshaw, mother!" said the doctor quickly, "that is 
unjust to intimate that Floy cares less for Harry be- 
cause he is pale and emaciated. On the contrary, that 
very thing would call out kindlier feelings on her 
part." 

"Then I guess Til fast a while longer,” said Harry 
laughingly. But the shrewd old doctor saw the blush 
which came, too, and went on extolling Floy’s vir- 
tues, ending with: 

26 


402 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


"I want her for my daughter-in-law, and Pll give 
you as long to win her as John and Jack had. I’m 
sure you have as good a chance as either of them had, 
when they courted their wives.” 

Mrs. Osborne answered a knock at the door, just at 
this point, and Jack and Marne came in. It was a 
jolly meeting; all shook hands again, and Harry de- 
clared that he had a notion to kiss Jack’s wife. 

Marne dissuaded him, saying: 

"If you do. Jack shall kiss your wife before three 
weeks!" For one hour they stayed, and ’twas one 
continual laugh from the time they came until they 
went away. Then Marne declared to Jack: 

"Harry and Floy will make the happiest couple, ex- 
cept us, in this country." And the Osbornes decided 
that Marne and Jack were cut out for one another. 

During the next two days, Harry "took in the town;" 
visited old friends, saw many of the old haunts, and 
it rather rested than tired him, as the doctor feared 
it might do. Most of the time, however, was spent 
at home with his mother and the friends who called 
there to see him. All his old school-mates had called, 
but Floy. 

Guy was watching her manner toward Harry and was 
beginning to think he was not the formidable rival he 
feared he would be; he was quite elated at the state 
of affairs, particularly, since he himself had acted tol- 
erably honorable. 

The second evening after Harry’s coming, Guy met 
Floy down town and casually remarked that "Harry’s 
soldiering had changed his ways and manners as much 
as time had changed his face." He was surprised at 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


403 


the look she gave him, and the words, with the man- 
ner in which Guy said them, revolutionized Floy’s 
actions toward Harry quite as much as his "prophecy” 
had before the "gala day.” 

The next morning Harry came up to Elm Cottage, 
but had only reached the gate when he was met by, 
"Don’t you want to go on a forage, soldier?” from 
Floy, as she came hastily down the walk. 

"We never refuse a chance for something good to 
eat, especially, when one is to have a good partner; 
you know a great deal depends upon that.” 

"Well, I can’t say that 1 will be a very good part- 
ner, but I’ll promise that I won’t rti?i from friend or 
foe!” said Floy, looking defiantly mischievous. And 
Harry could not have said after this that he had not 
seen straight into Floy’s eyes. 

"Well, is this a forced march, a double-quick, or 
are you just trying to tire me out?” asked Harry, as 
they started across the meadow and Floy stepped on 
quickly. 

"Neither, nor do I mean to break my promise to 
not run from friend or foe!” laughed Floy, taking a 
slower gait and stepping with him. "But, you see, we 
are getting ready for company to-morrow and mother 
wants some green apples in the 7iear future.” 

And Floy twirled her bucket over and over her head 
like a school-boy just let out of school. 

"Who are to be the favored ones, who are to eat 
the apple pie?" asked Harry. 

"The ‘Pride of the 7 th Iowa’ and the happy parents 
of the ‘Bonaparte’ of the same regiment,” answered 
the bright-faced girl. 


404 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Nine o’clock came; Grace and Aunt Polly began to 
look across the meadow toward the old orchard, won- 
dering anxiously why Floy didn^t come. Ten o’clock 
came, but no Floy and no apples. Aunt Polly’s pa- 
tience was exhausted and she called: 

“Will! Will! go to the old orchard and see what’s 
the matter that she don’t bring them apples. We 
oughter knowed she’d gather every flower she saw and 
pull it to pieces before ever she left the orchard! Pd 
be glad ef there wasn’t any such thing as botany!” 

Will was gone an unusually long time and when fi- 
nally he came in sight again, no Floy was with him. 
Quite uneasy, they both went out to the gate to meet 
hiip. Their fears were soon allayed by his broad grin 
before he said: 

"Harry is with Floy. I took the bucket from beneath 
the tree they sat under, and they were never aware of 
my presence.” 

“1 never did see such a child! ” said Aunt Polly, 
biting her lip to keep back the half-developed smile, 
and hurrying up the walk with the apples. 

Will didn’t “tell tales out of school,” but Grace sus- 
pected that the little squeeze he gave her, as they 
went up the walk after Aunt Polly, was suggested by 
something he saw in the orchard. 

The old wooden clock struck twelve, and Grace, on 
looking, saw the pair leisurely coming across the 
meadow. Soon all were at the window, laughing 
some of those good hearty laughs which make one feel 
good the rest of the day and bless the man who first 
invented the art. Floy carried her apron, and Harry 
his hat, full of green apples. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


405 


Aunt Polly remarked they must have been trying to 
make up in quantity the time they had lost; for they 
had several times the amount Floy went to gather. 

Grace had always loved Floy like a real sister and 
had hoped that Harry would win her, if he was given 
back to them; but, since the day he came, Floy had 
puzzled her. She was even beginning to fear that Guy 
Harrington, as a ’64, might be preferred to her darling 
brother, and she was accordingly interested in the 
pair coming through the gate. 

Through the open window, she heard something that 
made her smile, and say to Will, “Its all right! Why 
anybody could have heard it,” she added, as Will pre- 
tended surprise. She was only a woman, you know. 

Grace was satisfied. She had heard Floy say; 
“Then, or now, if you say so ; but that would be so 
jolly, it would even beat Jack and Marne.” And Harry 
had answered: “Bless you, my little girl! I knew all 
the time that it was all right!" 

They met them at the door feigning surprise at 
Floyds long absence, and Aunt Polly laughingly told 
them that two children like them did not "look so 
guilty for nothing.” 

The medal hung in its accustomed place, but Floy 
had not blushed so much over all the qaestions and 
comments together, as she did when Will took it from 
her chain and read the words, “For bravery,” which 
had meant so much to Harry when he first looked at it. 

“For bravery’ For bravery!” quoted Will, ^‘well, 
from what I saw I think she earned it. And Harry 
should have one of brass with the words ‘He held his 
own!^ on it.” 


40G 


IVHAT IT CO:^ T, Ok 


Harry visited Elm Cottage frequently in the next few 
days and the villagers nodded their heads, knowingly; 
but not even Marne knew “the end thereof. '' Marne 
coaxed and chided; ’twas no use. 

“Oh, Marne, if I’d make a confidant of you now, 
you would tell Jack the first hour you were with him. 
O no. Jack has the first place now!” had been Floy’s 
laughing reply to Marne’s — “Now, Floy, tell 7?te please. 
I’m your confidant, you know!” on the evening be- 
fore the Fourth. 

No celebration had been so well planned as the 
one to take place on this 4 th of July. Many would re- 
member that of ’63 with more sadness and many with 
more joy. The soldiers who had faced the “flower of 
Lee’s veterans” as they marched over the fatal hill at 
Gettysburg, would never forget the bravery displayed 
by both blue and gray; they would never forget the 
sight which met their eyes, as with sad faces and 
heavy hearts they had gone over that, the bloodiest 
battle-field of the war. 

The Mapleton boys will always remember how proud 
they all felt, after the long siege, as they marched 
through the streets of Vicksburg; how much encouraged 
they felt when the Confederate army, thirty thousand 
strong, laid down their flags and muskets to be grant- 
ed their paroles; how they had laughed as they read 
at the head of a Vicksburg paper — printed by Union 
soldiers — “Grant has caught the rabbit, dined in 
the city of Vicksburg, and shut off the supply of 
mule-beef and fricasseed kitten.” 

Long before the farm-yard fowls began their merry 
songs, or the dark-blue sky in the east was streaked 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


40 *? 


by the purple morning light, the cannon pealed forth 
its “Boom! “Boom! “Boom!" and lit the houses near 
by with its bright flashes. One hundred shots were 
fired, but before the fourth of them had shaken the 
air, the soldiers of Mapleton were all out. 

In the early morning, Will Morris walked down the 
road, drawing full deep breaths of home and free air; 
recalling memories both sweet and sad, inspired by 
the sight of the flags and the booms of the cannon. 

A deep shadow o’ercast his face as he thought 
silently, and his eye involuntarily turned toward the 
churchyard; following his thoughts he turned his steps 
thither. The estrangement from his father was the 
bitterest thought connected with the past. The mem- 
ory of the stirring scene four years ago to-day, was 
much softened and tears sprang into Will’s eyes as he 
stood beside his father’s grave and thought: “Would 
peace have come to this family when peace came to 
the nation?" God knew best and had brought peace in 
his own way. 

A vase of fresh flowers upon the mound told him 
Floy had been there the evening before; and with a 
fervent, “God bless faithful little Floy," he angled 
across the commons to Elm Cottage. 

Quick steps and busy hands were preparing a dinner 
such as never even Aunt Polly and Grace had fixed 
before; the pantry was fast being transformed into 
Wonderland under the big eyes of Gwen and Grant, as 
frosted cakes, pies, turkey, etc., were stored away 
ready for packing. 

Floy was to be the Goddess of Liberty, and in her 
room were spread out her new white Swiss dress and 


408 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


long white veil, both covered with silver stars; and the 
golden crown and graduating slippers lay beside them. 

At ten o’clock the streets were full of vehicles and 
the procession was forming; when all was ready Will 
drove up to the cottage and brought Floy down. 

The wagon for the states had been beautifully deco- 
rated and when the thirty-five bright-faced girls in 
white, took their places, and Floy stood on the pedes- 
tal, arranged in the center of the wagon, holding to the 
staff of the huge flag which floated over them, a spon- 
taneous cheer went up from the enthusiastic crowd. 

Marne, who represented South Carolina — no one 
was willing to represent one of the seceding states at 
first, but Marne and Lois had broken down that bar- 
rier by offering to take South Carolina and Georgia, 
claiming that they had been conquered by Union sol- 
diers, anyway, and rather liked it — Marne had put her 
arm lovingly around Floy, when she first appeared, 
with: 

“You are just beautiful! You surpass even your 
graduating make-up. This outfit will do for the 
other occasion; you’ll only have to remove the stars; 
the veil is quite the thing! ’’ 

“Why, donU the stars look pretty? I guess Til just 
keep it as it is!” Floy had laughingly replied. 

Harry was “Uncle Sam. ” His red and white striped 
pants and star-spangled blue coat, Grace had made large 
enough for the doctor himself; but by the use of plen- 
ty of cotton, Harry had fitted them on, and looked the 
veritable old “Uncle Sam,” his thin cheeks suggesting 
the recent sorrow some of his children had caused him. 

After the huge procession had reached the grove, the 







DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


409 


Goddess sang the "Red, White and Blue," all the 
states joining in the chorus; an eloquent address was 
followed by toasts and apt responses. The last of them 
and the most memorable was that of Rev. Miller in 
response to the toast, "The Union.” He paid a beau- 
tiful tribute to its protection of individual and national 
rights; dwelt eloquently on "what it cost” the brave 
defenders, then asked permission to wander a little 
from the usual programme, and illustrate his subject. 

He turned; at his signal "Uncle Sam” and the "God- 
dess of Liberty” stepped to the center of the rostrum, 
and — before the astounded crowd could recover from 
its surprise as the truth dawned upon them, the "Un- 
ion" was perfected with, "I pronounce you man and 
wife. What God hath joined together let no man put 
asunder!" 

Then an ear-splitting cheer told how all understood 
the apologue, and they adjourned for dinner and a 
good laugh. 

Guy’s prophecy was fulfilled; and Mr. and Mrs. 
Harry Osborne ate dinner with a host of laughing 
friends, before Harry had been at home two weeks. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


OFF DUTY 

’Twas a bright June morning in ’84. The perfume of 
roses filled the air about the Elms, where an elegant 
two-story residence had taken the place of the Gothic cot- 
tage which had looked an Eden to Will when, nineteen 
years ago, he had returned from the weary march and 
terrible bloodshed in the South to the rest, home-love 
and comfort this humble cot held for him. 

Nineteen years of peace! "Uncle Sam’s" boys had ' 
exchanged their uniforms and muskets for business 
suits and hoes; changed the tents and camp-fires for 
cozy homes and kitchen stoves, presided over by wives 
with happy faces; changed the hard-tack and bacon for 
biscuit, jelly, and pie. 

Prosperity and thrift spoke on all sides about the 
elms. In the well-arranged, clean barn-lot, two large 
black horses arched their necks and neighed, content- 
edly, at the gate leading to the pasture, where grazed 
two good milch-cows on the green sward. A fine fam- 
ily of fowls sang and crowed about the hennery; while 
flowers, adorning the gravel-walk across the lawn, lifted 
their smiling faces, still bedewed with nature’s tears, 
as the golden rays of the morning sun kissed them. The 
boys and girls of the war-years are the men and women 
of to-day. Will Morris, with his armless sleeve, and 
gentle Grace have lived their school-days over again in 

410 


DEBTOR ARD CREDITOR 


411 


those of Gwen and Grant; they have passed that try- 
ing-time for heart chords, when they had to give Gwen 
— the bright, laughing, singing Gwen, to live in a 
home of her own. ’Twas two years before this June 
morning; a dark-eyed handsome lawyer, whom Gwen 
had met while at the Musical Conservatory in Evanston, 
had sought her here, and the solo of her life became 
richer and fuller as it blended with that new deep voice 
into a duet. 

’Twas Linn Lockridge, the son of Colonel Lockridge, 
to whom Will owed his life at Chattanooga. And, 
when the two colonels met, to give and receive 
children, they had laughingly queried, "Who’s the 
debtor now?" as they clasped hands in warm brother- 
hood. 

Gwen went to live in Illinqis, where Linn was win- 
ning fame and laurels, if they did begin humbly, and 
she was hapj^y as a bird. "Singing like a nightingale, " 
Aunt Polly declared who had just returned from a visit 
to her pet — Aunt Polly, grown quite old now, but enjoy- 
ing her chair at Will’s, while she tells Floy’s children 
of the stony paths they all tread "when Will was in 
the war, and your pa and ma was just a brave soldier 
boy and a mischievous gal.” 

All nature rang, as the glories of the day were re- 
vealed, but the inmates of the house were deaf to the 
sounds of mirth, and blind to the beauties of the dia- 
mond sprays and crystal-decked blossoms. 

Will, a middle-aged man now — -long, black whiskers 
and sweeping mustache quite hiding the finely cut 
mouth — the forehead higher still, since time had up- 
rooted much of the dark hair — the steel-gray eyes keener 


412 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


yet and more thoughtful; still the same erect form 
came out upon the porch at the side of the house and 
sighed, as he leaned heavily against the railing: 

"Pshaw! it is not such a dreadful affair, and yet I 
never hated to do a thing so badly in my life!” he said 
soliloquizing, but Grace who had followed him out — - 
the same patient gentle Grace, the violet eyes a trifle 
dimmer and cheeks of faded roses — heard it. 

"Never mind. Will, don’t worry so; we’ll pull through 
some way; we always have.” And Grace slipped her 
hand in his so confidently that a smile came again. 

"Oh, it is not such a dreadful thing! We’ll have to 
mortgage the place, though. Yes, you hate that word 
don’t you, little woman?” as the face, turned up so 
cheerily to his own, looked appalled at the word she 
always thought meant "death grip.” 

"But, we can pay it back of course, out of the office, 
in three years, by living with little expensje and by sav- 
ing. V/e know how to ‘rough it’ don’t we, my helper?” 

"O, I just hate the mortgage! the very word frightens 
me,” and Grace shuddered as she spoke it. "Thank 
God, the children are through school, and Grant has 
his long-dreamed-of farm! But, oh! if we should lose 
this dear old home! It does seem hard. Will, for us 
to have to pay this debt which someone else owes. I 
can’t blame Clarke for the fire, of course; and last 
night he was nearly frantic — actually wept when the 
walls of the old mill fell in — wept like a child, and 
grasped my hand saying: ‘In heaven’s name forgive 
me, for asking Col. Morris to go my security! ’ Poor 
fellow, he was trying hard.” Grace ended with a sob 
and Will’s eyes were not dry as he said: 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


413 


“I should not have done it, perhaps, but Clarke is 
one of the ‘old boys’ and they all have a warm place 
in my heart. He’d have paid it off in time, too, if 
the accident had not occurred; though it was careless 
of him to allow the insurance to run out.” 

Aunt Polly came now to the door with : "Come in, I 
won’t listen to your secrets, and breakfast us getting 
cold. ” 

The injured tone touched Grace’s heart in a moment, 
for t’was one cherished object with her to make mother 
feel at home with them in the home she preferred, 
to the one Floy offered her, and Harry urged her to 
accept. 

"We have no secrets from you, mother. We’re just 
trying to see the way out of the dark," said Grace 
smiling. 

A sunny-faced young man came whistling from the 
barn at this juncture; ’twas Grant, now grown into a 
sturdy-bodied, intelligent -faced youth, of twenty. 
Sturdy in mind — sturdy in principles ! A smile and 
proud look greeted him, but his clear, blue eyes grew 
serious, as he suspected the subject from the faces. 

"Now, look here, folks, we’re going to sink with 
colors flying, if sink we must; but there’s no use in 
getting down over it. I guess it is true the insurance 
had run out a week before, and Clarke Wells has noth- 
ing now. But we can borrow the money, father, on 
my place, and pay it O. K.” 

"Never! Your farm is yours! it was your choice 
rather than the college course; and a start in business, 
we meant to give you. No, ‘Uncle Sam’ will pay it 
off in three years and I can get the money;” so Grant 
said no more. 


414 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


Will Morris had been postmaster at Mapleton for 
thirteen years, to the delight of all who got their mail 
there. His appointment was a surprise to him as well 
as to the whole village; it happened in this wise: A 
vacancy occurred by the death of Wilkinson who held 
it during the war; then petitions without number 
were sent in. Among them, several from old .soldiers, 
who had rallied around that immortal leader. Grant, 
when he had headed the | party-ticket, and who now 
thought that a soldier would be his choice for the 
place. 

One of these aspirants had been Lieut. Wiley, and 
when he came to Col. Morris for his signature, with- 
out a pang of jealousy ’twas given; for though, person- 
ally, Will had never liked the over-bearing lieutenant, 
he knew him to have been a brave soldier and believed 
him to be an honest man. 

Will was farming the best he could at the time, hav- 
ing a hand to help when ’twas positively necessary, but 
the family at Elm Cottage were knowing what hard 
times meant, even in time of peace. John Edwards, 
who was now editor of the "Mapleton Courier,” had 
urged him to apply for the place; but Will would not, 
since he had signed a petition for another and "stuck 
to the farm." One day a large official envelope came 
from Washington to “Col. Wm. Morris.” Imagine 
Will’s surprise to find a commission for the postmas- 
ter’s place, with a letter from Grant himself: 

"Executive Mansion, Washington D. C. ) 
July 7th, 1871. \ 

"To Wm. Morris, Ex-Col. 7th Iowa. — Sir: — Among 
the many signers of petitions for the place of post- 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


415 


master of Mapleton, Iowa, I find your name to one, 
and send you the commission for the place, since I 
learn from your Congressman that you will probably 
accept it. I remember you, and am glad to do this; ’tis 
Uncle Sam^s partial payment on his debt. 

"U. S. Grant, Pres. U. S. " 

Since the soldiers came home there had not been 
greater excitement in the village. Everybody was 
pleased, many jubilant. Will took the place of course, 
and loved Grant more than ever. 

The duties of the office were not irksome to him at 
all, for he was careful and orderly by nature, and was 
so genial a companion and honest friend, that the peo- 
ple loved to have him there. Indeed, he grew to be 
the confidant of many whose mail he handled, and soon 
proved himself true to them and their interests. The 
office had a salary of one thousand dollars per annum; 
a snug sum it proved to the needy Morrises then, and 
a blessing it was to be to them now. 

Two days after the fire, a notary came up to the 
Elms, and Grace put her name under Will's on that 
dreaded mortgage. Her face paled in spite of her 
efforts to keep calm. Aunt Polly couldn’t bear to see 
it done, so she started for the garden to keep from cry- 
ing but cried before she got there. Will commanded 
himself only with much effort; while Grant hastily 
left the room, feeling choky over his mother’s sad face. 

"The money can be raised all right in three years, I 
guess, but ’twill make my mother’s hair whiten 
quicker! ” he said. In the exciting campaign in the 
fall, the mortgage was quite forgotten. Grant was just 
old enough to cast his first presidential ballot, which 


416 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


he did for Blaine and “Black Jack” Logan, whom his 
lather loved. 

A peep at the torch-light processions shows the 
change in the Mapleton young folks which twenty years 
have wrought. Prominent among those who couldn’t 
vote but could hurrah with vigor, was Del Lawrence 
Osborne, son of the popular Dr. Harry, who com- 
manded the company and took charge of the drilling; 
Jack Riley’s twin sons. Link and Sherm, marched to- 
gether and hallooed among the loudest. 

A company of girls in white, with red, white and 
blue sashes was led by Jennie Edwards, a second Lois, 
with sparkling brown eyes and smooth, glossy, chestnut 
braids; she is the editor’s special pride and always 
spends Saturday afternoons in the office, though she 
is taking the scientific course at the normal school 
conducted by Prof. Baker, Judge Burton’s son in-law. 
Lawrie Osborne often brings his sisters, Marne and 
Lois down to the hall to hear the campaign speeches. 
Dr. Harry invariably comes with a bright sunny-faced 
woman, who chats so pleasantly with everyone and 
grasps Mrs. Marne Riley’s hand so eagerly, that all 
the school-girls know they were the old chums, “Floy 
and Marne, ’’whose names are coupled in so many 
library books. 

"Will, are you not afraid you’ll be relieved from 
duty next March when the victors divide the spoils?” 
asked Editor Edwards, one morning, as he stood talk- 
ing in the postoffice, shortly after the returns had un- 
questionably shown the party to which they belonged 
to have been defeated. 

"Wouldn’t be surprised if they’d give the place to 


DEBTOR y^ND CREDITOR 


417 


Nasby. Oh, really ’tis only fair for the victorious 
party to hold the offices; we’ve had our day, I suppose," 
and Will began stamping the mail quite composedly. 

"They’ll do it too, I’ll wager," said Jack Riley who 
had just come in, but heard both question and answer. 
"There’s no mention of such a thing now, though; but 
’tis only a question of time ’till off comes your head." 

Will looked concerned in spite of his effort to keep 
apparently indifferent. The thought of that mortgage, 
which it would be hard to lift with one arm, would 
bring the color to his face. 

"I don’t believe there will be a single petition sent 
in; certainly not," said the editor. "There’s no reason 
for a change and no one would think of asking for one; 
it would be preposterous." 

A number of men came in at this point, and the con- 
versation became so interesting, as they compared notes 
on the experiences of the war that the "small boys" who 
should have been in school, slipped in, in twos and 
threes to attend to the old soldiers’ meeting. The 
"boys" had not talked much about the war, until the 
sad scenes were softened by time, but now they enjoyed 
talking it over. But when, after the inauguration, no 
petitions were made for a postmaster in sympathy 
with the administration. Will began to hope he was to 
be retained. He was particularly careful in the dis- 
charge of every duty connected with the office; for the 
mortgage on the old home, and Grace’s frightened look, 
as she signed it, haunted him, and he hoped to pay 
off that debt, at least. 

One November evening, as the household sat together, 
Grace and Aunt Polly knitting. Will resting, and Grant 

27 


418 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


rG3.(iing a-loud to thGin Grace asked suddenl} 

“Shall we celebrate our silver wedding? It com 
on Thanksgiving, you know.” 

Will looked up quite surprised. “Why ! what’s that! 
Silver is twenty-five years, aint it?” 

“Hurrah! that’s the thing, exactly,” cried Grant en- 
thusiastically, “of course we shall! ’Twill never come 
again and mother wants to, I know.” 

“Why, Grace, I’m sure I wish we could; what will it 
cost?” asked Will, who was thinking of the mortgage 
as Grace spoke.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t think of having one of those stiff, 
fashionable receptions where a great crowd of mon- 
eyed people are invited, even if one does not care a 
fig for them, so as to get fine presents. I should 
want just our family and a few friends who love us and 
are loved by us. The presents might be omitted.” 

“Did you notice the stress laid on the word “might?” 
asked Grant mischievously- “Now, mother mine, you 
want a whole silver service; you are picturing a hand- 
some outfit back of that serene indifference.” 

“It wouldn’t cost no great sight, nohow," said Aunt 
Polly, “we’ve got chickens and turkeys, pickles a 
plenty and fruit a plenty, to get up a real nice dinner. 
We havn’t had such a good fruit year since you was a 
boy. Will.” 

“Well, so be it; ’twill bring Gwen home sure; that’s 
the finest thing about it," and Will smiled, as did they 
all. Grant wrote to Gwen next morning, and within 
ten days she was with them. She didn’t write she was 
coming, but just came into the office with some old 
school-friends she met on her way from the depot, and 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


419 


Wiil didn’t notice her until on opening the delivery 
windows she stepped up with "Any mail for me? ” He 
was justly proud of her; she had quite filled the prom- 
ise of her childhood — a fair face, wondrous eyes, like 
Grace’s own, while a keen intellect and good heart had 
stamped the face with something which quite outshone 
the fair complexion and rose-tinted lips. 

How they laughed to get her back, and laughed again 
as, with almost childish glee, she rummaged through 
the forgotten letters and playthings, sang the old songs 
with Grant, or had again the quartette of home voices 
that blended so melodiously. Thanksgiving morn 
came clear and pleasant. Truly thankful. Will looked 
out upon the Frost King’s wonders, then upon the in- 
terior of his home, where busy, loving hands were 
working a rival picture to celebrate the day when Grace 
became his own. 

Dear Grace! Through trials dark as night and scenes 
of brightest sunshine, she had been his second self, 
cheering, lighting the gloom, or softening the glare of 
the light. Ah! God had dealt kindly with him. 

Aunt Polly, Grace and Will, who was an earnest 
Christian now, went to church, but good old Rev. Mil- 
ler didn’t address them; he had gone to live in that 
home he used to picture so beautifully and point to so 
earnestly. 

Gwen stayed to bake the turkey and Grant "to amuse 
her,” he said, "and receive, if any of the company came 
before she got her bangs curled.” Linn was coming 
on the train. Many of the guests had gone to church, 
first, and came up with the folks as they came from 
church. Three generations they were, and yet no set 


420 


IVH/iT IT COST; OR 


of them felt "out.” The old Dr. Osborne joked more 
to-day than on the same day, twenty-five years ago» 

Dr. Harry married the blushing pair; and Capt. 
Edwards presented the silver tea service from the corn- 
pan}^, and a handsome silver-headed cane to Will, 
which Col. Lockridge had sent by Gwen. At train 
time, Grant went to meet Linn. During the general 
hand-shaking upon his arrival at the Elms, Grant mo- 
tioned his father from the room, and, in the library, 
gave him a letter from the postoffice department at 
Washington. They read it together — the message 
bearing the President's seal — it ran thus: 

"You are hereby relieved from duty, and will turn over 
the postoffice previously held by you to George Powell, 
Esq. whose commission has been forwarded. 

"Signed, , Pres. U. S. 

"That’s all. right, of course! I’ve feared this all 
along." Will tried to speak composedly but the agita- 
tion in his manner didn’t escape Grant. 

"Confound it! it isn’t all right, it’s all wrong! 
What was the use in the sham of retaining all the 
public officers, except for just reasons for dismissal! 
It’s all bosh! They’re turning out all the office-holders 
of opposite political opinion just as fast as they can, 
and what makes me mad, is the pretension of retaining 
them. ’’ 

"My bonds hold good till next July," and his face 
blanched a little as he thought, "and the mortgage 
falls due in June. There’s no use kicking against' 
facts; I’m discharged, is the best phrase to be used; 
it’s nothing of itself but— -pshaw! It is tough to 
be dubbed an ^offensive partisan, ' or some such bo- h, 


DEBTOR Am CREDITOR 


421 


when really it is but carrying out the cry, ‘Turn the 
rascals out!' Not a word of this until after dinner,” 
Will added, as Gwen came to announce it. 

In good old-fashioned equality, Floy and Gwen 
waited upon the table, where the merry party laughed 
over the pleasing events of the last twenty-five years; 
mingling the laughter of youth with the pleasantries of 
maturity and the reminiscences of the aged. 

"Had you been informed, ladies and gentlemen, that 
I had been put upon the retired list?” asked Will, 
when after dinner all had returned to the parlor; and 
he actually smiled, not exactly merrily, at the puzzled 
looks about him. 

“What’s that?” “How?” “What are you driving at 
now?” came simultaneously from the company. 

“O, I've got the papers for it!” and Will produced 
the long envelope from Washington. 

“Your removal!” exclaimed Harry. 

“The deuce it is!" put in Jack Rijey. 

“Yes, my removal,” rejoined Will without looking at 
Grace. “They’ve turned the ‘rascal out,'” said he 
carelessly, but most of the company knew the pang it 
must have cost to say it, as if it was a trivial affair, 
for all knew what the burning of the mill was to Will, 
and how bravely he had given his own notes to Clarke’s 
creditors, mortgaging his farm for the security. 

Aunt Polly's regrets vented themselves in a stream 
of indignation against some undermining person, who 
had applied secretly for the postoffice, and the Execu- 
tive, who would push a soldier out of a place to earn 
a living when, by his love of country and self-sacrifice 
to save her from disunion, he had made himself inca- 
pable of filling all places of a busy life. 


422 


iVH/tT IT COST; OR 


Everybody felt the justice of the denunciation. Jack 
and the Captain didn’t hesitate to say so — while Grant’s 
eyes glistened with resentment, as he saw the tears 
sparkle in his mother’s eyes, when she tried to smile 
at Aunt Polly’s vehemence and smooth over the hard 
speeches. 

Harry, who had been talking with Grant long and 
earnestly, lingered as the company dispersed — his little 
daughters, Marne and Lois, were helping Gwen clear 
the dishes, and that gave him a good pretext. 

“Why don’t you apply for a pension. Will?" asked 
Harry as they lit their cigars in the library alone, “’tis 
just collecting a just debt, which the nation owes every 
disabled soldier. I’ve respected the innate pride which 
has kept you from applying, hitherto; but you need it 
now; ’tis no charity, only a debt — and it should be 
paid. ” 

“O, I’d hate to dun such an old friend as Uncle Sam, 
and if we all keep our health we’ll pull through some 
way; I don’t believe it would pauperize the Government 
to pension all the soldiers, and believe it will come 
some day, but I’ll never ask for a cent; particularly 
now when I need it, it seems too humiliating,” and 
Will puffed a cloud of smoke that nearly enveloped 
him. 

Harry thought of answering: “You owe it to your 
family. Will,” but a feeling of delicacy prevented the 
words, which would have wounded the proud, sensitive 
man. Will’s next words showed that he had the same 
thoughts in his mind. 

“Thank God! the children are provided for partially. 
Gwen has taken her college course she used to rave 


DEBTOR Am CREDITOR 


423 


over — and bless her, she did it with honors too, and 
now can be a companion indeed to Linn in his studies 
as well as a helpmate in home duties; Grant has his 
farm — my father’s farm and my boyhood home. Now, 
if I just could save Grace’s home! I’ll do it some 
way I ’’ 

Grace and Floy came to search for them now, and 
soon Harry and Floy, with the two merry girls, the 
black-eyed Marne and pretty blue-eyed Lois, took leave 
of the home-party standing upon the porch, Will and 
Grace, Linn' and Gwen, and Aunt Polly who waved 
their adieux smilingly, though a dread of coming evil 
rang a minor strain of sadness through the parting 
notes. Only those who have possessed and loved an 
old home, made sacred by the memories of happy sur- 
prises, sounds of children’s prattle, manhood’s hopes 
and ambitions, woman’s tenderest feelings of mother- 
hood — and only they who loved the place where their 
babies first^ smiled at them, the paths where the cease- 
less patter of restless feet kept down the grass; only 
they can know the feelings that wrung a sigh from 
Will’s compressed lips as he looked around on this 
cherished retreat with the haunting fear of losing it. 

"Don’t, Will, don’t look like that! ‘It may not be 
my way, it may not be thy way, and yet it is His own 
way; the Lord will provide,’’’ quoted Grace softly 
slipping her hand confidently into his. "‘Into each life 
some rain must fall; some days must be dark and 
dreary.’ ’’ 

"Yes,” said Gwen, "but the clouds ought not to have 
come up to-day; though on every Fourth of July I can 
remember, and every picnic day, no matter how brightly 


424 


IVHAT n COST; OR 


the sun shone in the morning, it always rained before 
the sun set.” 

“The Fourth your Aunt Floy was married to Harry, 
not a sign of a rain-drop fell all day,” Aunt Polly said, 
“and the sun seems to shine for ’em right along. My! 
but the folks looked foolish, when Rev. Miller stepped 
upon the platform and married ‘Liberty and Uncle 
Sami’” 

“That was a joke!” cried Gwen laughing again, 
though she’d heard it many tines before; it pleased 
grandma and didn’t hurt her. 

“Now, folks, let’s go in and sing something jolly to 
drive dull care away.” 

“I must go down to the office a little while,” said 
Will, “but will listen to you sing ‘the day is done.’ 
I’d stay any time for that; Linn, you’ll go down then, 
won’t you? ” 

“Certainly,” and they went in to find rest in Grace’s 
song. 

In the meantime. Grant Morris and Jennie Edwards 
were driving down the road past the old Morris place; 
Grant’s farm now. The blacks arched their glossy 
necks and took a brisk trot; the old place looked quite 
home-like for the last owner had built a new house, 
more humble than the one that reared its head heaven- 
ward from among the elms, but a pretty white cottage 
near the old site where Floy had played by the rose- 
bush in the long ago. 

Jennie blushed crimson as Grant drew up in front of 
the vacant house; fora year ago this winter. Grant had 
told her she should be its mistress, or it would never 
be occupied; and she had consented — how could she 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


425 


do otherwise? It would be such a shame to have all 
the sweetness of that old place lost for want of some- 
one to enjoy it— and they had fixed New Year’s morn- 
ing to begin the new partnership, whose place of busi- 
ness this was to be. 

Grant looked at Jennie with a longing, hungry look, 
that puzzled her completely, when she glanced around 
wondering at the silence. 

“I have brought you here to' tell you something,” he 
said; “’tis hard for me to say and yet I feel sure your 
true woman’s heart would bid me do it; to this place 
I brought you, for it holds the sweetest, dearest hopes 
of my life. Oh, it costs me almost more than I’ve 
manhood to bear to jeopardize that hope." 

Jennie’s face grew white and scarlet by turns. What 
was this Grant was saying, why did he look like that? 
but Grant was looking at the place now and didn’t 
notice the questioning eyes. 

"This old place has a history; here my father fought 
the conflict between duty to country and inclination to 
stay with home, wife and mother. He had the courage 
to do right at all hazards, at even the sacrifice of a 
father’s love, and afterward a right arm. Yes, ’tis a 
fitting place to ask you, Jennie, to help me make a 
sacrifice for the father. ” 

"What? Tell me at once what you ought to do, and 
be sure I’ll second the motion; for if anybody in this 
world deserves a sacrifice from their children your 
parents certainly do. ” 

‘‘Now, when you look so bravely beautiful, and talk 
like that, you make it harder for me— don’t you see?” 
and Grant kissed the brave face turned to his own, 


m 


WHAT IT COST! OR 


then gazed into the melting brown eyes, as he said: 
“Now, that father is removed from office, there is no 
possible show for him to lift that mortgage and the 
money must be paid by June. I must sell this place — 
father gave it to me, you know — and save my mother’s 
home.” 

“You’re a splendid boy, Grant! Do it! ” Jennie said 
earnestly. 

"But I can’t have you so soon, darling, and, more 
than that, it’s plain as day to me that I ought to do 
this, cost what it may to me to give up the hope of 
home here with you — but I’ve no right to ask you to 
wait until 1 can make another home for you.” 

“You have the right if you want me to, Grant.” 

"Want you to? I want you to, darling, I want you 
now! I’ll have no other to be my wife, if you don’t 
wait; but darling, I don’t know how long the waiting 
might be! you love me now, yes, Jennie, I know it, but 
who can tell what the weary waiting might bring? No, 
I must leave you free — free as air, though it breaks my 
heart. But when I have a home again, may I ask you 
to make it the dearest place in the world to me by be- 
ing the sweet wife who rules and blesses it?” 

“I will always be true to you. Grant; be the time, 
months or years, you will find me just the same,” was 
the sweet, brave answer. 


CHAPTER XXX 


ON DUTY 

“Well, I can’t make it out!” and Grace Morris sat 
down by Will to think over it, with her head resting 
on her hand, her elbows on the table, where lay her 
work-basket untouched. Aunt Polly put down her 
knitting instinctively, to help ferret out the secret 
whatever it might be, while Will looked up, interested, 
from the evening paper. “I can’t understand about 
Grant and Jennie. If he’s going to marry her why 
don’t he do it? You were in such a hurry about getting 
me, I supposed everybody was anxious to have it 
over,” and the mischievous look toward Will made 
him remember Grace Osborne’s winning ways. 

“Anxious mamma, do you want to get your last child 
married off?” asked Will with feigned astonishment. 

"Not exactly, but I’d like to know he was treated 
fair and square. Now we all thought, last fall. Grant 
was arranging to bring his wife to the cottage; for 
everything pointed that way. But now there’s not a 
shadow of a hint that Mrs. Grant Morris will ever be, 
and I’d just like to know what it all means, that’s 
all!” and Grace examined the holes in Will’s stock- 
ings -she took from the work-basket, as if she’d unravel 
the secret, as easily as the stocking. 

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she’d jilted him; 
though he don’t let on and laughs as jolly as if nothin’ 

437 


428 


^HAT IT COST; OR 


was the matter,” said Aunt Polly, "But you can’t tell 
nothin’ about gals now-a-days; and I can tell you Jen- 
nie Edwards aint nigh the gal her mother was.” 

“Come, come, don’t slander your neighbors, ladies,” 
said Will, “I don’t understand Grant’s arrangements, 
exactly, myself, and if he’d consult his old father in 
his courting, Pd tell him how ’twas done. But I see 
no need to worry as long as he keeps his appetite 
like he does, and laughs like he’d raise the roof.” 
Then Will resumed his paper contentedly, but Grace 
was not content. 

“There stands his house vacant, and another thing, 
most of the crop this year he had put out on this place. ” 

“Grant is working like a trooper! I wish I could 
pitch in like he can; we’d clean that mortgage off in 
a hurry,” and Will’s sigh told the worry that was 
mixing his hair with gray. “I think we can get the 
notes renewed though, and we’ll pay eight hundred 
dollars in June.” Will was keeping books in a store 
down town at a salary of forty dollars a month, a 
meager sum it seemed, to pay off those notes, but he 
hoped to get into something else. 

“Well, I calkerlate to ask Grant right out, why he 
don’t marry that gal,” said Aunt Polly knitting briskly. 
“It may be she’s flirting with him, just holdin’ 
off to see how anxious he’ll get. Law-sakes! She 
aint the only gal in town! I wager he’s down to her 
house to-night, though; for he looked knowin’ like 
when you asked him to take Floy’s butter, if he was 
goin’ to the post-office. If he’d just pretend he was 
gettin’ sweet on Myrtle Linden, Fred’s oldest gal, 
she’d come to her senses sudden.” 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


429 


“You must do nothing of the kind, mother,” said 
Will, “don’t you know such things had better be left 
to the young folks themselves? Grant will manage 
that all right. I’m not at all uneasy on that score. 
Don’t you want the last from Washington?” and he 
read aloud. 

But the subject was not entirely dismissed from 
Grace’s fertile brain; and the next Sabbath she found 
herself watching Jennie Edwards closely. She saw 
Grant look long after the trim figure in blue flannel 
that passed him with a bow, but after Sunday school 
she talked full ten minutes with the young minister, 
whose face showed more interest than Grace thought 
called for upon strictly S. S. matters. 

That afternoon when Grant was lounging in the 
library alone, reading “Miles Standish’s Courtship,” 
she came in and sat beside him. He greeted her with a 
smile, but showed a little surprise, which increased 
as she asked suddenly; 

“Do you suppose Rev. King contemplates making 
one of our Mapleton girls a King to rule the parsonage?” 

“O ho! that would be a fine idea — I believe I’ll 
suggest it to him any way” — Grant’s merry laugh 
didn’t sound as if she had touched the tender chord. 
“No, I’m afraid the idea never entered his theory-filled 
brain. Now, who would you suggest? Aunt Sue Clay- 
ton is fair, fat and forty; and would make a fine 
preacher’s wife, but she’s a trifle old. He never no- 
tices any of the young girls, though.” 

Grace grew impatient. Will would laugh at her if 
he should happen in and find her sounding Grant, so 
she “bravely waded in.” 


430 


IVH/tT IT COST; OR 


“When are you going to bring some one to your 
cottage, Grant?’’ the question sounded awfully blunt, 
and Grace had meant to be so discreet and sly. 

“O that’s the cream in that cocoanut, is it?’’ And 
Grant’s laugh brought confusion’s stamp on the face 
doing its best to appear calm. “I wondered what you 
were baiting for. Now, mother mine, I feel hurt’’ — 
and the injured look seemed nature’s own. “You want 
to get rid of me, do you? I remember how you cried 
when Gwen hinted at such a thing as marrying, and — 
yes, I do feel wounded, I see it all clearly now — you’re 
tired of sewing on buttons and mending for me. 
Alas! that it should ever have come to this!’’ 

“Naughty boy! I’ve a mind to box your ears. Shame! 
To make fun of your poor old mother when she was 
going to tell you where you might find some one, or 
write out a proposal for you, if you didn’t know what 
to say — ungrateful!’’ and Grace walked quickly from 
the room, pretending offended pride, but the mischiev- 
ous look in her eye told Grant not to be alarmed, as 
he looked smilingly after her. Grace had heard Will 
coming and was partially satisfied; besides Grant was 
evidently not suffering from unreciprocated affection 
and she wanted — oh, so badly — to keep this last chick 
under her maternal wing as long as possible. 

As the time for the maturity of the notes came, 
Will’s steps grew heavier and slower; what could he 
do to raise the money if they must be paid? The 
creditors lived in Nebraska, now, a new state, and 
perhaps would want the money. He wrote them and 
offered to renew with higher interest and impatiently 
awaited the answer. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


431 


It came at last, only a few days before the June day 
when it was due. Will’s face blanched and his firm 
mouth quivered painfully as he read: 

“I must have the money when it is due. I send the 
notes by this mail to my attorney. Please attend to 
it promptly or the mortgage must be closed." 

That sounded like a heartless threat to Will as he 
read it and, for a moment, he felt very indignant; yet 
’twas but business, perhaps, and the inevitable result 
of the risk if prosperity failed. 

What could be done? Nothing! positively nothing! 
but see the home, Grace* s home and mother’s sold! 
The thought maddened him! Mother would grieve 
o*er it, and vent her grief in sad words and sobs. But 
Grace — Grace’s sad, mournful eyes while she tried to 
smile would be harder for him to meet. "How will I 
ever tell them?” he thought, as he reached the gate of 
the beautiful home, which looked now mon dear than 
-ever. 

"A pension would have saved it — but ’tis too late 
for that or anything." 

And in the boldness of despair he marched straight 
into the sitting-room — bright with blooming geraniums, 
and fragrant with perfume from the roses outside the 
open window— and laid the letter in Grace’s hand, as 
she was working on a pretty table-scarf for Gwen. 

"Oh!" came the exclamation of mingled surprise and 
pain, as Grace clutched convulsively at the table; then 
looked with terror-filled eyes into Will’s face, as he 
stood, despairingly, watching her. 

He wished he had softened the blow by preparing 
her for it; but he had felt desperate at first! A great 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


43 *^ 


pity for her though, rallied his stronger self, and he 
stroked her brown hair tenderly now. 

“What on earth’s the matter?” asked Aunt Polly, 
coming from her room at the sound of Grace’s moan. 

“The, very worst, mother; the farm must be sold, for 
there’s no other way to raise the money." 

“Does your letter say that he won’t wait?” Aunt 
Polly was coolest of the three; “have you tried to 
borrow the money any place else?” 

“Yes; to both questions! Pve tried every place else 
I know of; but money is scarce as hens’ teeth; Harry 
has tried too, but he can’t help, for two thousand dol- 
lars is too big a sum to raise. No; Pve lost your old 
home, — forgive me, Grace, for taking such a risk, but 
I never dreamed of this! Nobody is to blame serious- 
ly, but, oh, it’s hard, hardr and Will’s abject look as 
he sank on a chair and gazed, with a deep frown, into 
space, brought Grace to his side in a moment. 

“Don’t Will! I can’t bear to see you look like 
that, — you’ve tried too hard to break down now! 
There’s a way out of the darkness — some way.” But 
even cheery Grace couldn’t find the way; though in 
the dark days that followed she sought the help of that 
Friend — who never fails — for strength to do what she 
could, and bear what she must in this trying time. 

Grant learned the crushing tidings at once, but they 
tried to conceal the suffering it cost them. He talked 
bravely, worked harder, and was kinder to each of 
them, and talked often with Harry. 

One June day. Will came up earlier than usual and 
with hard-set muscles, told Grace and Aunt Polly, 
he had told the attorney to close the mortgage. “There 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


433 


is no other way — there is no private sale, no money," 
he said despondently. 

Grace had quite made up her mind to give up the 
old home bravely no matter what it cost her in secret; 
but the tears would fall in spite of herself when the. 
ordeal came. 

"Well, we can go and live with Grant until he wants 
the house himself,” said Aunt Polly. "There’s no use 
a-bein’ timid about mentionin’ it, when you gave him 
the place, though I wonder he has not thot of it afore 
this. Floy and Harry ses for me to come and live 
there, and perhaps I oughter, only I — ” 

"ISTo, mother, as long as we’ve a home of any kind 
it’s yours, too, if you care to stay — and ’twouldn’t seem 
home-like to any of us to have you away," and Grace 
kissed the wrinkled face whose lips quivered notice- 
ably at the thought of finding another nook, even in 
Floy’s family. 

"What we’ll do next I don’t know; rent some place 
down town I suppose, and live from hand to mouth! 
Oh, it’s too hard for you to be treated this way, Grace, ” 
and Will’s head sank with a thump on the table while 
he sobbed as he hadn’t done since he gave Harry up as 
dead in the long ago. He had wept then because he must 
break the news that would wound her dear heart. And 
now through causes he could not prevent, she must be 
homeless; she who had loved this place so; the place 
where their children were born, raised to womanhood 
and manhood!. 

Grace came to him, but her tears fell with his 
awhile, before she could say: "Never despair! ‘God 
is where he was!’ We can begin again with his help. 

28 


434 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


Home’s where the heart is, you know, so we carry 
ours with us, if we’re all together. We have one an- 
other, Will; ’tis not near so hard to bear this as to 
bear the loss of a dear one. God brought you to us 
again from the war.” Will drew her down upon hi's 
lap and kissed the dear lips which so often spoke 
words of comfort. A quick, firm step rang on the walk 
outside, and Grant bounded up the front steps with 
school-boy elasticity, and right into the front room, 
actually smiling; though Aunt Polly met him with, 
"Hush! the place is to go for the mortgage!” and 
gave a deprecating look toward Will and Grace weep- 
ing. 

"Not a bit of it. Grandma” — and advancing to Will 
thrust a paper into his hand. 

"Why, what is- it. Grant?" 

"Read it, sir!” Will opened the large paper, with 
its notary seal. 

"The mortgage! What does it mean? How did 
you get it?” he gasped, too bewildered to notice the 
word "Paid" written so prominently across the sheet. 

"Got it of Herrick and Burnett — and here are the 
notes ready to make afire for dinner, mother, and Pm 
awfully hungry too.” 

"Grant,” Will trembled like a leaf, as he rose, 
"vdiere did you get the money — for you must have 
paid it — did you mortgage your farm? 

"No, sir — sold it," and went on laughing at the ex- 
clamations of the three. 

"Sold it yesterday for two thousand dollars; and the 
notes were only eighteen hundred, so Pm two hundred 
ahead!” Grace threw her arms about his neck and 








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DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


4S5 


sobbed aloud, Aunt Polly laughed until she cried, say- 
ing; "Grant alters was a boss boy!” Will was quite 
overcome. 

"Grant, my noble boy — Pm proud of you, but I 
can^t accept this sacrifice! No, this is too much! ” 

"Why, it is no sacrifice! It is a pleasure to do this. 

I’d feel mean as dirt if I didn’t do it; this i-s the 
proudest moment of my life, father! ” as he wrung the 
hand that clasped his so firmly. 

That evening. Grandma and Grandpa Osborne drove 
out with Dr. Harry and Floy, to congratulate Will 
and Grace that the old home was saved, and Floy 
whispered something to Grant— something Lawrie had 
heard the editor’s daughter say at the printing office 
— that brought the color more than all the words of 
praise heaped upon him. 

They had known for some time that Grant had sold 
his tarrn to give possession on the day before the mort- 
gage fell due, and the old doctor — in whose heart there 
still burned a fervent love for soldiers — said: 

"’Twas a worthy act, my boy, quite fitting for a sol- 
dier’s son. ” 

That night the Chatauqua club met. Grant walked 
home with a lady, who smiled approvingly as he re- 
counted the whole scene to her, and ended with: "The 
waiting and working is hard, but it pays as it goes. " 

One morning, soon after, his father joined him, as • 
he hitched the blacks to go to cut hay; and after dis- 
cussing the farm prospects awhile, reverted to the pay- 
ment of the debt. His face had lost its careworn ex- 
pression, and its old hopefulness beamed brightly 
’ forth, and Grant quickened his gait in sheer gladness. 


136 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


“My boy, now that the old home is saved for your 
mother, so she can sing blithely again as she goes 
about her work — just hear her now, singing an old 
love tune, as I live” — and both stopped to listen to 
Grace’s voice, as it came floating in the old song, 
“When the roses come again,” through the kitchen 
window. 

“Now that is as it should be,” resumed Will, “but 
what I was going to say, all that the place can yield 
this year together with the increase in stock is yours, 
and we must make a desperate effort to regain the farm 
in two years; in the meantime, if you want to bring a 
wife here — there’s plenty of room and welcome, or 
we can put up another house on the place.” 

“There! you want to marry me off too, do you? 
or rather marry me on; there’s plenty of time to get a 
place for Mrs. Grant Morris, though, if I ever find her 
— what is it Carleton says about two families? 'A 
very small house for one family will do, but I never 
seen the house, that was big enough for two.’ What 
would he think about trying three?” 

“Ho, ho! you take quite a philosophical view of the 
matter for a young man of twenty-two. If you survive 
Cupid’s darts another year, I predict you will be a 
confirmed old bachelor.” 

“Is that remark congratulatory or sympathetic?” 
asked Grant, as he mounted the mower. 

“For answer, see that kitchen, and compare it with 
Jones’ bachelor quarters; with boot jacks, tin plates, 
and old pants promiscuously scattered;” and Will 
stepped into the neat, orderly apartment again before 
going down to his books. Grant started off in the 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


437 


summer’s harvest, with a merry whistle and a heart full 
of the hope of youth, now that the burden of debt was 
removed and his father and mother were contented and 
happy. The road to his goal seemed long indeed, but 
its end he could see far off in the distance; and in the 
home he pictured to himself, a pair of melting brown 
eyes were alwa 5 ^s prominent. 

Hay was the only thing that was abundant that 
year, for the scorching sun of a dry July and August 
burned up the corn, and Jack Frost stole much of 
the fall harvest. Next year and the next the fields 
received, but wouldn’t give back the usual abun- 
dance, and the outlook was discouraging — more than 
once Grant leaned on the pasture-gate, and weighed 
the questions all over again: 

“Would it pay to try again? Or seek another way 
to the goal? When, if ever, would the end come?” 

Grace and Will had hoped each year to lay up some- 
thing toward Grant’s start anew; but when old "Dame 
Nature” seemed to be pulling the other way, ’twas 
‘hard work with little pay.’ In the heated campaign 
of ’88, both Will and Grant worked enthusiastically 
and* to advantage. Grace laughed at Will’s excite- 
ment now, and, especially, when called upon one even- 
ing at a rally, he responded in a rousing speech. He 
enjoyed it — was well read — and of late years had been 
quite a student — so gave his townsmen the benefit of it. 

The soldiers were especially loud in their praise of 
him as a political leader. 

Harry and Grant had many long talks during these 
days which always closed abruptly when Will ap- 
proached. 


438 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


The postmaster, Geo. Howell, was quite unpopular, 
for Will Morris was a hard man to follow; so when 
Morris's party was restored to power again, he was 
suggested at once to take his old place. 

Will knew there would be a change, and was anxious 
to take the place again, for Grant's farm would then 
be forthcoming. A month before the new administra- 
tion would enter office, a petition was sent to Wash- 
ington, to the Congressman to present at an early 
date. Will felt that act premature but knew how nu- 
merous such petitions usually were, and probably would 
be now. The petition had been gone but a week 
when Grant came up one evening to supper, in such 
jubilant spirits that all knew something had happened. 

“Why, Grant, have you been paying off another 
mortgage?" asked Grace, as Grant with head thrown 
back, talking of school-boys' pranks, and telling hu- 
morous stories to the family sitting at supper, remind- 
ed her of that day when the joyous face brightened 
the gloom, even before the glad truth was known. 
“Something has happened, or is going to happen.” 

“Confess, sir,” said Will, who had been watching 
him curiously for some time. 

“Are we going to have some one to eat in Gwen's 
place, or is Gwen herself coming? I notice you have 
always got the mail lately. " 

"I wish I could say both, but my reputation for 
truthfulness must not be compromised — no: no mort- 
gage in my pocket, mother mine, but you may hug me 
as you did then — only wait until I take my collar off, 
for I'm going out among them to-night.” 

Yet after supper he seemed in no hurry to go, but 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


439 


wiped the dishes while Grace washed them, and Aunt 
Polly fixed the potatoes for breakfast; then coaxed 
Grace to sing “Plome Sweet Home,” and “Do They 
think of me at Home.” 

At seven o’clock. Grant still hadn’t gone, when a 
xnock came at the parlor door; Grace answered it to 
find Capt. Edwards and wife with Harry and Floy. 
A welcome company they were who often came, and 
Grace didn’t see the looks Grant and they exchanged, 
so didn’t suspect he knew they were coming. Will 
lad gone to post some accounts; coming up as usual 
at eight o’clock, he heard the music and sound of 
voices, and quickened his pace. 

“Hurrah! you couldn’t have pleased me better, this 
cold night,” he exclaimed; “I thought you were going 
into the country, Harry.” 

“So I was and here I am, rusticating in your easy 
chair. Now let’s have some apples while we talk to 
you; ” Harry was at home at the Elms and acted so. 

Grant brought apples, and Grace, cake to eat with 
them, while the company talked gayly as time-tried, 
fire-tested friends can. 

“Well, Will, your pension is heard from; ” said Har- 
ry unconcernedly at last. 

“My pension! What do you mean now? A joke of 
some sort, but I don’t catch the point.” Will looked 
from one to another but getting no light from their 
smiling faces. 

“Yes, your pension has been allowed. Back pay 
came in to-day in drafts on First National Bank of 
Chicago. Do your duty. Grant.” 

How they all laughed at the three faces, as the 


440 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


truth began to get through their befogged brains. 

“How did you do it?” “Well, if that don’t beat any- 
thing I ever heard of!” came with various ejaculations, 
through the chorus of laugfiter. 

“Now, look here, is this a prank to try my earnest- 
ness about a pension? Don’t trifle beyond reason!” 

The quizzical, puzzled look made them laugh again, 
now that they were started; the inertia of laughter is 
so hard to overcome. 

But Grant stepped to the table, near which Will 
stood gazing round at them, and took from his pocket 
a package. 

“Here’s proof of our sincerity. My father, accept 
this from “Uncle Sam” as partial payment on his debt 
of gratitude;” and counted the drafts out on the table. 

There was no mistake about it — it was no trick, for 
there was the official seal, and here lay the bona fide 
drafts. 

Aunt Polly exclaimed, “Bless the Lord; and may 
he bless Uncle Sam and you folks for bringing the 
good.” Grace kissed Grant and then Will, slipping 
her hand in his, in her old way, to show sympathy of 
any kind. She laughed through her tears at the proud, 
sensitive man, quite overcome at the unexpected 
blessing. 

Oh ! he had seen times he needed it, but hated to 
seek it; and now Grant needed the lift; it brought a 
great burden free at the thought. It wouldn’t bring 
back the right arm, nothing would pay for its loss, 
but it would make its loss easier to bear by smoothing 
the rough places. All this went through his mind as 
he stood speechless. 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


441 


“Who did it — and how?” finally came in a voice 
husky with emotion. 

“Uncle Sam did it, through your army friends.” 

“Grant worked it up, himself,” put in Harry; “he 
don’t need to lay this blame on our shoulders.” 

“Grant, Pm debtor to you again; did ever a father 
owe a son so much?” The tears ran down his cheeks 
as he grasped Grant’s hand, and then he shook hands 
heartily with all the conspirators. Then the story came 
out: how Grant and Harry — at first in the talking 
Grace had wondered at on the memorable Thanksgiving 
day, and in many similar ones — had decided to take 
matters into their own hands, since Will hesitated to 
apply for a deserved pension; and had finally got it 
through, though many times they’d given it up. 

They had felt much disappointed when it failed to 
come in time for Will to pay off the mortgage himself; 
but never too late for some good, and Will’s eyes 
sparkled as he planned another farm for Grant and the 
surprise he meant it should be. Not a word of it 
should the boy know (for Grant was still “boy" to 
Will, no matter how tall and broad-shouldered he 
was) until he would put the deed in his hand. Ah, it 
should be a fine farm; then, if Capt. Edwards could 
spare his daughter, why what was to hinder making 
the boy happily homed? He would see about his part 
of it soon. 

“Now, if that petition for the office could be recalled, 
I’d do it,” said Will later on, as the company pre- 
pared to leave. 

“Not much! No; we want our old postmaster!” 
exclaimed Capt. Edwards, “that’s the clamor from this 
whole community. Not another word of that.” 


442 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


And in early spring the commission came, signed 
by the new President, and, with it, patriotic congratu- 
lations from Clarkson, upon the "return of the soldier 
to his post." 


CHAPTER XXXI 


BALANCING ACCOUNTS 

"Well, Mr. Henderson, I want the place and if you 
can make up your mind to sell it, I’ll make it to your 
interest to do so.” Will Morris looked more anxious 
than a buyer usually allows himself to show, as he 
glctiiced into Mr. Henderson’s pondering face. 

"Well, I don’t know, I’m sure,” deliberately began 
the old faix ier, sitting down on the pile of hickory- 
wood stacked in the back yard for summer use. "I 
don’t care to part with the place; it suits me, and it 
suits the old woman; I suppose, though, we could find 
another’ll that would do. What’s your offer on it?” 

"What you paid for it and two hundred dollars more.'* 
The old farmer shook his head and Will proceeded: 
"Land is cheaper now than then; but it’s my old boy- 
hood home, right here by my own, and it’s Grant’s old 
farm; he’d rather have it, or I could get as good a 
place for sixteen hundred dollars; what do you say?” 

"Make it a hundred dollars more and I’ll make the 
deed to-morrow, or to-day if you say so. " 

"It’s paying you a cool seven hundred for an induce- 
ment to sell — but I’ll do it. When will you give pos- 
session?” 

"O, right away, I reckon, if you want it. My wife is 
a hanker’ n’ for a visit to our son in Kansas, and may- 
be we’ll move out there.” 


143 


444 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


“Well, I wish you would say nothing about the sale,^ 
if it’s no inconvenience to you; Grant sold the place 
to you, you remember without my knowledge, and 
I would like to buy it back without his knowledge. 
We’ll draw up the deed to Grant.” Will drove back 
in high spirits. 

“The woman folks can manage to get the cottage all 
fixed ready for its new mistress and Mrs. Grant Mor- 
ris can move to the farm they planned before the dread- 
ful mortgage busted everything up. Of course, they’d 
planned it before, or, at least thought of it. I’ll wager, 
though they kept it wondrous sly.” And Will Morris 
drove down to the east corner of his place to the new 
house that was going up and Grant was superintending, 
’Twas very like the cottage on Henderson’s place; 
Grant had planned it, and that plan had told Will and 
Grace that Grant and Jennie had once thought to make 
the cottage on the Henderson place their home. 

When the lift from “Uncle Sam” came so oppor- 
tunely, Will and Grace told Grant that the Elms was 
his to use if he chose to farm; for, as Will was in the 
postoffice again, that salary made him independent in 
the support of Grace and Aunt Polly; and they would 
erect a house for him on the place if he chose. Grant 
had told them he’d accept the offer, and would bring 
Mrs. Morris No. 3 to the place as soon as the lodge 
for her could be built. 

And this May morning, when Will drove up to it, 
with a knowing look at Grace, who had walked down 
with Grant to keep him from seeing Will drive to 
Hendersons, it was assuming a tangible form. Grace 
rode back with Will and was left at the residence with 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


445 


a glad look in her motherly face. Then she hastened 
in to tell Aunt Polly, that the old home was soon to be 
Grant’s again; while Will drove whistling down the 
road to the postofhce. 

The village gossips had their hands and hearts full — 
yes; and mouths too, for that matter — in the next few 
weeks. For the new house being constructed at the 
Elms; Gwen^s coming home and saying Linn would 
come in time to go back with her; the suspicious stir 
at Capt. Edwards; and the bundles that came through 
the express-ofhce to Jennie, made food for many a fine 
chat across the back-yard fence and o’er the afternoon 
teas. But though most of the secrets were ferreted out 
by curious "private detectives,’’ none could explain all 
the mysterious goings among the matrons — Grace, Lois 
and Floy, or the wise councils they seemed to hold 
when seen alone 

No; something unexplained would come to light yet; 
the cards came out for the wedding at Capt. Edwards 
at twelve o’clock; and, also, other cards to the recep- 
tion in the evening of the same day at the Elms. 

That the affair would be the grandest of the season 
no one doubted. The young people in the circle in 
which Grant and Jennie were merry leaders, were in a 
whirl of excitement. Comparisons of dresses and pres- 
ents; prophecies for wedded bliss, and regrets at losing 
the pair from the circle of single blessedness was the 
order of the day; yet aside from what all knew and 
talked about, the elder conspirators were preparing a 
snug little home for the "children," when they were 
ready for its occupancy. 

The Hendersons had gone to Kansas on a visit, 


44G 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


everybody said, but everybody didn’t know that before 
going they had stored their goods in the smoke-house 
by the cottage to be shipped when they wrote for them. 

The week the cards came out, many trips were made 
across the meadow to the supposed Henderson farm. 
(Aunt Polly too, made several, always arranging things). 
Two nights before the wedding-day. Grant saw a wagon 
heavily loaded go down the road, and wondered a little 
about it; but soon dismissed the thought. Next morn- 
ing early Lois and Floy drove down the canopied road 
and Will and Grace went across the meadow at the 
same time, and meeting at the cottage, unloaded the 
pretty new furniture that wagon had brought, and ar- 
ranged it tastefully and neatly in the cottage. 

Grandpa Osborne, too, that afternoon drove down 
the road with a spring wagon full of flowers from 
Grandma’s choice collection, which Gwen and Floy 
arranged on the shelves Will had put up for them. 
How much it reminded Floy of the time they fixed up 
Will’s cottage, and she spoke to the others of it — only 
then Floy was a little girl thirteen years old, and now 
her own little Lois was that same age. Clay had 
helped her arrange the flowers that day, and a sad, 
sweet memory it made to all of them as she spoke of 
it. 

"Oh, the homes made by loving hands on earth are 
not our eternal ones," the old doctor said. "But this 
old place and these preparations bring memories which 
are bitter sweet." 

The trips that day to the Elms, reminded Floy so 
vividly of other days, that tears sprang into her eyes. 
Through the orchard — yet the same, though new trees 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


44 ? 


took the place of the ones she used to climb — across 
the meadow, how often she had come at even-tide to 
greet him whose grave out in the church-yard she yet 
visited and often put fresh bouquets upon. And memory 
chastened by years and softened by happy home-scenes 
brought thoughts that lifted her heart leagues nearer 
heaven. 

Grant was busy th^^t day, papering, cleaning the 
yard and arranging things about the cottage at the 
Elms, and he did not notice the mvsterious proceedings 
down the road. 

When Gwen drove down to the station to meet Linn, 
a happy surprise was disclosed in the person of Col. 
Lockridge who had been sent cards but was hardly ex- 
pected. He laughingly said to Will who grasped his 
hand warmly: “You see I came to see all your children 
married; you saw the last of mine settled. Then the 
lady is the daughter of our little hospital friend. No, 
I haven’t forgotten her.” The Colonel, though with 
dignified bearing and unbroken health, was showing 
the trace of trouble and the track of years; his wife 
slept the long sleep now; his business life was com- 
paratively closed and he lived among his children, of 
whom Linn was the youngest. 

Aunt Polly was considerably worried next morning 
at the cloudy appearance of the sky; but, by ten o’clock, 
the sun shone out and at noon-day only a few clouds 
could be seen — as few as married life could be hoped 
to contain. But neither Aunt Polly nor any other 
guest was viewing the sky, for in the pretty parlors of 
the Edwards home — parlors improvised for the occa- 
sion by the sitting-room, spare bedroom, and parlor 


448 


IVHAT IT COST; OR 


all being thrown together — the guests had assembled, 
received by some of Jennie’s special girl friends. 

Gwen played the Wedding March, and Grant and 
Jennie came down with a few special friends who had 
been allowed a last word with her before she assumed 
her new title. 

Very beautiful she looked, as was fitting and ex- 
pected; curious eyes were satisfied with the dress, but 
some nudges were exchanged. “It must have cost an 
awful sum,” was said in many knowing looks. It was 
plain but rich; her father would insist and Jennie 
couldn’t resist — white silk skirt with white plush red- 
ingote; her only ornament a bunch of forget-me-nots 
in her hair, and at her throat a tiny locket Lois had 
kept among her “girlhood treasures” until that morn- 
ing. It bore the inscription: 

“Ward M., U. S. Hospital. St. Louis, Mo., 1863.” 

Gwen called Col. Lockridge.’s attention to it and the 
old gentleman was much pleased. 

Few and simple were the words which contained 
the sacred vow. In the deep hush the minister’s “I 
pronounce you man and wife,” sounded solemn indeed 
—but it had a glad ring to it, to Grant’s ears— the 
waiting was o’er; his wife stood beside him; he turned, 
and gently, almost reverently, kissed her. Dinner was 
served at once, as Jennie had planned, to prevent the 
trying scene of congratulations from all her guests in 
one string. 

Six young men, selected from the particular friends 
of Grant and Jennie, served. A merry afternoon they 
spent in music and games, in which both old and young 
joined heartily; then the carriages and buggies were 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


449 


brought out, and the company accompanied Grant and 
Jennie to the Elms whither the Morris party had pre- 
ceded them. 

The reception was a cordial one; though Jennie did 
not feel it was home exactly, she felt the genuineness of 
the welcome. After a superb supper had been served, 
the guests returned to the handsomely decorated par- 
lors and an evening long to be remembered began. 

Grant sang the solo, “My Queen,” while Jennie ac- 
companied him on the piano — a new article of furni- 
ture, Will’s present to Grace — and Mother Lois in- 
dulged in a little cry in the back parlor. 

Once, while the voices of Linn and Gwen rang out 
in harmony in a grand duet. Col. Lockridge turned to 
Will, and a company of kindred spirits who had drifted 
together, and said: “That’s the way Morris and I 
jumped accounts. But the question still remains — 
who’s the debtor?” 

“I made a rash vow, you see, ladies and gentlemen; 
when in the hospital I told him to ask what he would 
and ’twas his. I noticed then a quizzical twinkle in his 
eye that I half distrusted; but never dreamed he meant 
to demand my only daughter.” 

“But, you see, I gave him a son" — began the Col- 
onel. 

“Yes; then whisked them both away to your Illinois 
homej but, in memory of Chattanooga I’ll call it 
square if you will — shake!” and the hands clasped 
warmly. 

“Grant,” called Will, thinking this an opportune 
moment, though Grant was busily talking to Aunt Floy 
and Marne Riley, who had naturally drifted together - 
29 


450 


JVHAT IT COST; OR 


— “I thought, perhaps, as you were starting out on 
your own responsibilities to-night,’’ Grant bowed low 
though wondering what the joke was — “we had better 
settle our accounts.’’ Then Grant did look puzzled. 

“Why there^s plenty of time to settle that, if there 
is any difference between us.” The crowd had heard 
enough whispered from those in the secret to be thor- 
oughly interested by this time; and Jennie began to 
suspect a capital joke, as she and Gwen, locked arm 
in arm, joined the group. 

“No; I’m anxious to have it over — if this will suit 
you we’ll call it square,” and Will’s face shone with 
unalloj/ed pleasure, as he thrust the deed into Grant’ 
hands. 

It was Grant’s turn to be astonished now. And the 
company all found out what it was and began shouting 
— “Speech!” “Speech!” “Grant!” “Grant!” before he 
realized the situation. 

“I don’t understand what you mean?” then, with 
Jennie, ran his eyes over the page “The old home! 
Oh, my father” — and the voice broke down. 

“This gift is too much — there was no debt” — he be- 
gan again. 

"Twill balance the mortgage, perhaps; take the team 
for interest,” cried Will excitedly, his face fairly glow- 
ing with smiles. “Your cottage you will find all ready 
for you, furnished and equipped, waiting its mistress.” 

“Good! that explains why my mother was away from 
home so much of late, and where the table linens I 
missed have gone, ” said Jennie. “That’ s just splendid ! ” 

“But father, the new cottage, here,” said Grant tr}"- 
ing to collect his scattered senses.” 


DEBTOR AND CREDITOR 


451 


"It’s rented; your own home will need your atten- 
tion. ” 

"Father, how can I ever thank you?” said Grant with 
emotion. 

"Don’t try it," responded Will jubilantly. "Uncle 
Sam did it all! I never could have repaid you, had he 
not given me the lift — boost I might say.” 

Cries of "Hurrah for Uncle Sam!” "Long live Uncle 
Sam ! ” came from the cro-^d. 

"Uncle Sam owed it to you, and more than he can 
ever pay in dollars and cents," said old Judge Burton 
coming forward and grasping Will’s left hand. "The 
brave, loyal citizens who turned their backs upon weep- 
ing families and pleasant homes to preserve this Union 
can never be paid, but if their suffering can be assuaged, 
a grateful nation comes and reaches a hand to help 
her preservers! Uncle Sam is still the debtor." 

"Never! Don’t slander Uncle Sam! He’s done his 
part in giving what he has, and providing peace, pros- 
perity and happy homes to an intelligent, sturdy, loyal 
people. ” 

"That’s so. The Union forever!” said Grant as he 
kissed his wife. 

"Let’s draw the red lines across the accounts and 
mark them balanced,” said Will; "and let’s all sing^ 
^Three cheers for the Red, White and Blue.”’ 


THE END 



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